From Danny to Harry
by martian-general-bookworm
Summary: An immortal Danny Phantom has nothing left to live for in a world that just doesn't need him anymore. Luckily Clockwork knows of a world that could use a hero like him. Danny-Harry reincarnation fic!
1. A distraction from eternity

**I am appalled at the lack of reincarnation fics in this category. So here's my attempt to add to the fandom.**

**I don't own Danny Phantom or Harry Potter by the way**

Immortality sucks. Anyone who says differently is either stupid or… no they're just stupid. Or my name isn't Danny Fenton.

There is nothing glamorous about staying the same while the world changes around you. There's nothing great about watching everyone you love and care about grow old and die while you stay stuck in some god-forsaken age- time-limbo that you can never escape. There is nothing funny about burying your children and grandchildren who lived to a ripe old age, but you know you have no business being at their funeral looking like their goddamn grandson yourself. There's nothing fantastic about slowly withdrawing from the world because you find there is nothing there for you anymore.

Maybe those who want immortality are the type of people who just think that having all the time in the world would be great. Sure you now have plenty of time to devote to your hobbies; I mean I went back and got my freaking PhD in Engineering, Chemistry, Astronomy (I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid after all) and Biology. At the same time though, all that extra time doesn't mean you're suddenly free from problems you had when you were mortal. You still need a job to pay your bills or you got no house. I mean yeah, technically I could _acquire_ this money via my other special abilities if you wanna get technical, but no we're just talking about immortality alone here. And knowledge is surprisingly empty without something to apply it to.

Maybe you wanted to spend eternity finishing a goal, or maybe just doing something you loved. Good for you. Unfortunately you might find that goal you were working towards didn't take nearly as long as you thought, or maybe you just got sick of that thing you so dearly used to love, or even worse that thing you loved just doesn't need you anymore. Ouch…

Hell, maybe they're just afraid to die. That reason is also silly. I can assure people that they have nothing to worry about. Everyone totally has an immortal soul (which is the _only_ thing that should be immortal) that goes on to another place. Be it the Ghost Zone for all of those with unfinished business or some other plane that my parents _didn't_ build a portal to. Unless they're afraid of damnation or something in which case I admit that I have no advice on how to face that kind of afterlife. The Ghost Zone is considered limbo not hell.

Otherwise, there is no good reason I can think of for living forever.

So why do I seem to have such a hard time dying? Old age doesn't touch me; I haven't met a disease or infection my bizarre immune system couldn't annihilate within a week. I even gave myself AIDs and cancer (Don't ask about the cancer. It involved metric crap-ton of microwaves; let's leave it at that.). I walked into Frostbite's lab the month after and tests ran negative for both. The visit led to a strange set of questions from the white yeti king, which admittedly led to stranger answers and him humbly requesting that I seek some form of counseling, which I politely ignored. Death through injury is also out of the question thanks to my ghostly physiology, which is far more malleable and durable than I ever gave it credit for. Even weapons against ghosts couldn't truly end me as my human half would always anchor my ghost self and vice versa.

As it turns out, becoming a half human half-ghost hybrid has a disturbing long-term side effect. Apparently once I reached my physical peak of maturity my ghostly half went to town on my human half and _changed _it even more than it had already had been. According to Frostbite, who will always be more knowledgeable in ecto-biology than me, natural born ghosts, like Box Lunch (ew) and Winterchill (Frostbite's adorable kid), come out of ghost puberty (it's even worse than human puberty) into something called a final form. For them it's what they'll look like for the rest of their ghostly un-lives, unless they go through some significant power up later on. Apparently my ghost half recognized my human self's physical peak as the equivalent of a final form and stopped me from aging any further. Frostbite then explained how this was possible, in a long, long, long-winded lecture about genetics and the nature of ectoplasm that I had trouble wrapping my brain around even with those extra college degrees under my belt. It essentially summed up to "you can't die when you're already dead."

In short I'm not going to meet my family wherever the not-ghosts are.

Great.

Oh my god I am so bored.

I'm not even being dramatic. I've been around for three hundred and ten years. I have become so powerful that almost no ghost dares to fight me anymore. The most powerful enemies of my childhood are jokes to me now. I could take on Pariah without the suit now and come out on top. Even the Observants leave me alone and they bother EVERYONE. I guess that's a good thing.

I miss the challenge.

I can't even use these powers to protect the Earth like I use to anymore. I mean I could, but they don't really need me anymore. Human relations with the supernatural have never been better. I could go after the few bad seeds in both societies but, due to the power of friendship(hehe) society is more than capable of taking down non-human and normal criminals alike. Humans now have the technology and the allies to do it.

So, no more hero work for me. Crap.

Getting a normal job was also a bit of a dead-end. My reputation would follow me wherever I went. However unlike me in my teenage years, I was revered, to put it mildly. I got way more respect, leeway and favor from than I frankly deserved for someone's first day in office. I would be promoted to positions I hadn't had the experience for and everyone would always have the audacity to look shocked when I messed up, because apparently superheroes weren't suppose to do that. The real downer though, was the guilt of knowing that I knew at least three or four people who were passed over because of me, but they were probably more qualified than I ever was.

So I turned to books for a while. Yes I was desperate, shut up.

After a meeting with Ghost Writer that went something like this:

Danny: Hey writer can I use your Library?

Writer: Get the fuck out of my lair.

Danny: I'll let you use that reality-warping keyboard on me for your next story…

Writer: … No talking in the library.

I got lost in the world of words. Ghost Writer had everything in that Library, including books that the human world had thought were lost to time. There was knowledge that could have revolutionized the whole of mankind, which that greedy bastard had proceeded to hoard for himself. I may or may not have copied and leaked the pages of some texts to some influential historical societies in the land of the living. They would have appreciated it more than Writer did.

Even so, that got boring as well.

Nowadays I just hang out in my lair or waste time with other ghosts. Sometimes I ride with Johnny and Kitty on a bike we made together. Other times I do some community service to get Walker of my back. If I'm in the area I'll goof off with Frostbite and try to lure his royal furriness and guards into a snowball fight. You haven't had a real snowball fight until you've been part of a Far Frozen one. On special occasions I would fly up to Ghostly Rome where Pandora resides and take part in a series of games that they held in their Coliseum rip-off, only theirs was in much better shape than the original since they never took blocks from theirs for other building projects (also the no erosion thing). I visit the Dora Queendom from time to time too (formerly known as the principality of Aragon). It's one of the most technologically advanced cities in the Ghost Zone now; if Tucker had become a ghost I know he would have moved there and set up shop. Sometimes I just fly aimlessly through the Zone, because no matter how old I get, flying will always feel awesome.

Today I was currently lazily sitting upside down on my couch watching Netflix that I had Technus help me hook up on my holo-screen. TV's had been replaced over one hundred and fifty years ago; these babies were their latest successor. Netflix never seemed to die though. Huh.

So bored…

I hopped up off the couch and turned off the holo-screen before making my way to the door of my lair. I almost slammed the door open and leaped into the green swirling abyss that happened to be the Ghost Zone's atmosphere. The door slowly closed behind me in way that was reminiscent of all of those horror movies I loved to watch. I honestly wasn't sure if that was a Ghost Zone thing or a trait my lair picked up from me.

I needed some social interaction or something. Dwelling on eternity is not healthy. Speaking of eternity (Wait, didn't I just acknowledge doing that was bad?) I wonder how Clockwork is doing. He's been around for eons and he hasn't cracked yet. Maybe he has advice for me! It's definitely a better plan than doing meandering figure eights in the sky all day.

I change from aimlessly floating to speeding in the direction of a certain clock tower.

* * *

"I've been expecting you," of course you have…

Clockwork stood in the middle of the main viewing room of his tower, watching one of the many monitor screens with an impassive stare. He didn't even look up at me when I entered, but he greeted me nonetheless.

I took a glance at one of the holo-screens and winced at the image of my only living daughter doing paperwork on an oak desk in a rather fancy office. She had her mother's eyes and face, but my ghostly genes to keep her looking twenty-three forever.

"She's happy," the cloaked ghost offered.

"She was able to keep up in a changing world. Something her old man couldn't do," I replied.

"Morgan has always been a very adaptable woman," I puffed up a bit at the praise on my daughter's behalf.

"She gets it from Sam," I couldn't help but add.

"You're pretty flexible too you know," I couldn't stop the snort that escaped me. I raised an eyebrow at the timekeeper, watching as he switched from able-bodied adult to a hunched over old man.

"You've never been one to flatter with lies before," I grumbled bitterly. He knew why I came here. Like he always says "_I know everything". _If he was trying to make me feel better, this sure wasn't it.

"You're right, and I am not lying now. Perhaps you've just forgotten how good you used to be at keeping a secret identity?" The ancient ghost waved his staff and all the screens in the tower now displayed my fourteen year-old self doing all sorts of things for the sake of not getting hauled off to a government dissection table. Each screen showed a different scene; from a simple lie to a teacher, to pretending to dumpster dive to transform. Good times.

"Or have you forgotten how you acclimated from just protecting Amity Park to assisting on a more Global scale?" The screens changed again to familiar sights of my younger self, meeting with the leaders of the free world at that time to hammer out the details of just what I would and would not help with. Things like International war were a no-no, but natural disaster relief and rescue were A-ok. That and what I usually did of course. Several other screens depicted several leaders varying from foreign kings to American generals trying and failing to coerce me into acting as a weapon to keep for themselves.

"Maybe you need to be reminded of just how you reacted to finding out ghosts weren't the only thing that weren't just superstition?" Clockwork changed the screens again to my first encounter with a nāga* in India and how I managed to work out peaceful relations with a whole hidden village of them and a neighboring town of average humans. Another showed Tucker and Wulf getting friendly with a pack of Canadian werewolves. I couldn't repress my snicker at a screen revealing my wife Sam gathering a protest in England for vampire rights, with both human and vampire protesters.

The time ghost had now adopted his child form and gave me a buck tooth smirk that just screamed 'why do you even question me when I'm always right?'.

I wasn't convinced though. That smirk was impressive, but my pout was better.

"If I'm so darn flexible, then why can't I find a way to still help people like I used to?" I said maybe a bit too loud, "Why can't I still be useful without feeling outdated or like I'm just on some other level," I might have been yelling now, but at this point I was too frustrated to care.

The hooded specter dropped his smug face and directed his attention to the screens once again. With yet another wave of his staff the Holo-screens no longer showed my friends' and my accomplishments, but the Earth as it was today.

"The human world has adapted in a different path than you have, although it is undeniable that you were one of the key factors that set it on that path. The Earth is more peaceful than it's been in centuries and it has you to thank," He looked back to me, "from childhood you learned to be a hero and adapted to chaos, protecting others and constantly preparing yourself for the next danger. Now you feel like you're not needed anymore now that the world doesn't need to be constantly saved from out of control supernatural beings."

I sighed, "So I'll never be needed again is what you're saying?"

"No, just not for a very, very long time."

"You're not helping at all. You know that, right?" I felt compelled to make sure he knew that.

"I wouldn't say that just yet," said Clockwork. A small grin was tugging at his bucktooth lips; "You came here for guidance on what to do with your rather… unique case of immortality. I have one better, a suggestion if you will.

That got my attention. My whole body stood rigid, listening intently now for what the timekeeper had to say next.

"I see I don't need to ask if you're interested. Follow me then," He waved his arm backward, motioning for me to follow him, which I did. We floated through an archway and up a couple of flights of winding stairs. We didn't go all the way to the top, but stopped at what I guessed to be the seventh floor and entered another room through another archway.

This archway was different though. Unlike the plain one at the bottom of the stairwell leading to the viewing room, this one was thick, white and covered with silver etchings I could only describe as ancient.

The room itself looked like it rarely saw any visitors at all. It was round in shape and about twice the size of my childhood bedroom, except you know built entirely from ancient stone blocks. The ceiling was at least twice as high too. There were no windows either. Which was kind of strange considering that the buildings of the Ghost Zone could have windows anywhere in the building including the basement and still somehow get a view of the zone outside.

The stuff inside the room made it even weirder. At first glance it looked like a bunch of old junk. An old brass mirror sat on a small armoire with an open door that revealed mismatched old shoes, belts and hats. On a table there were forks, spoons, knives, plates, pots and pans from different sets that probably came from different eras. All were looking rather tarnished. Various old broomsticks, that looked like they'd make a bigger mess than they'd clean, were stacked haphazardly on the wall, which is a much neater fashion than a bunch of the other random trinkets that were strewn on two other old end tables in the room. The most prominent thing in the junk room, as I have now named it, was a very tall rectangular structure hiding under a sheet of cloth to protect it from dust that hardly exists in the ghost zone.

Normally I'd just write this off as Clockwork's junk room that he seriously needs to throw out, but this stuff was giving off weird vibes. Almost every single item in this room seemed to have an aura of its own ranging from a sugar-and-rainbows kind of harmless, to an I-will cut-you type of violent. It was almost disorienting.

"What is this place?" I finally ask. Clockwork didn't answer immediately. Instead he slowly floated over to the sheet-obscured item and pulled off the cloth covering.

What, the _hell_ was that?

It looked like an archway ripped right out the Stone Henge that lead straight into the twilight zone if that clear, rippling energy that seemed to take up the entire entrance was anything to go by. Clockwork let me to gape at it for a moment or two longer before speaking up again.

"You know that the Ghost Zone is the home for all deceased with unresolved issues," I nodded. This was old news, "What you didn't know, however is that your home dimension is not the only one that uses the Ghost Zone," My eyebrows rose to my hairline. Well that was a heck of a shock.

"…How many other dimensions are there?"

"Too many to count, but only several connect to the Ghost Zone for their restless afterlife. This portal… this veil in particular," he waved his staff over to the Veil for emphasis, "leads to a world just barely attached. Very few restless souls from that world are actually capable of reaching the zone on their own and natural portals are nearly nonexistent."

"Then why would they use our zone if they can't get to it?" I asked, "Couldn't they use another dimension 'closer' to them for their ghosts?"

"Ours was the 'closest'," oh.

"The Veil you see before you is the work of ancient magic trying to understand and make contact with the other side."

I nodded, "So, it's basically like an ancient Fenton Ghost Portal, minus the science, and replace it with Merlin?"

"Basically. But, unlike your home dimension, which is practically on top of this one, contact with this other one is much harder to establish and preserve. Even so the connection is a bit strange for lack of better words," Clockwork gave me a piercing stare that left me unable to do anything, but listen to his next words; like they were about to decide my fate, "Those that go through this portal almost never come back and if they do then they have been changed in a way that can never be undone. That is the price of entering the Veil.

"However I can see the other side of the Veil just as well as I can see any world connected to this zone and it is filled with all of the things that you have been missing Mr. Phantom. There are people who need you, people who understand you and a place for you that there isn't here."

Huh… well that wasn't what I was thinking of when I came to visit today. I can't say I'm not just a little excited at what I think he was offering though. If I could help people, be useful, make a difference again, then this was too good to be true.

"What's this world like?" I asked. There was no way I was jumping into this blind like some dumb teenager. There had to be a catch.

"Very similar to your own home at some point in time," Well that both narrowed it down a lot and not at all. So the place this leads to is another Earth and not some other alien planet, but that still doesn't nail a time. He said that people would need me, so that means humans are around which leaves me tens of thousands of years to guess at. Unfortunately that wasn't making the offer much less appealing. Wow I was more bored than I thought. Wasn't the thought of a one way trip to a strange new place suppose to be, I don't know, more intimidating?

"Wouldn't this be meddling with another world's affairs? Don't the Observants get all pissy when you do that?" I asked, still not completely sold on this idea, but secretly considering it to be an awesome one.

"The Observants will always find something to worry about," the time ghost waved a dismissive glove, "whether it's me or something else that doesn't matter is pointless all the same, and nothing I can't handle," hard to argue with that logic, "this however, is not about them. It's about you.

"What I offer here is a chance that I give to only those who truly have nothing left to exist for here in your world," I inwardly cringed hearing those words said out loud for the first time. It hurt just as much as I though it would.

I had always tried to avoid thinking that very thought. I reminded myself of my daughter and other descendants that I stuck around for, but I lost contact with them long ago. Only Morgan visited me every now and again and I could tell that it was more out of familial responsibility than any real desire to catch up witch a father that hadn't changed in ages.

I tried to reflect on my friends in the Ghost Zone to prove Clockwork's statement wrong, but I found myself unable. I may have kept in much more contact with them than my family, but they did nothing to help push me forward or give me a purpose either. They simply distracted me from how very long forever seemed to be. They were an entertaining distraction, but a distraction all the same.

The air suddenly felt heavy and I couldn't float anymore. I slowly descended from my place in the air and landed on somewhat shaky legs. It was true; I didn't have a purpose anymore.

Clockwork put a gnarled hand on my shoulder and I gave a wane smile at the gesture. The spirit respectfully refrained from commenting anymore on the state of my current affairs that seemed to have all caught up to me in that moment. His hand gave a slight reassuring squeeze and he continued on with his proposal.

"It would be a chance to start anew. Where no one will have ever heard of Danny Phantom yet," He added.

And like that, I knew I was gonna walk through that portal. A blank slate, free of any reputation I had gathered in my life was never going to come by again. This was it. This was what I wanted.

My eyes stared at Clockwork then to the Veil. It didn't seem as ominous as it did before. In fact it might have been a bit welcoming. The rippling energies of the archway seemed to ease instead of discomfort. The stone archway itself didn't seem half as imposing as when I first laid eyes on it. I don't doubt that my new opinion of it was probably an effect of the ancient ghost's offer.

Even so, before I knew it or could even stop myself, I took a step forward and then another and yet another. The echo of my boots walking across the room were the only sounds in that clock tower as Clockwork impassively watched me make my way over to the ancient portal.

It seemed to call me now, in its own weird way. Maybe it knew that I wanted to use it and it was letting me know it was ok with it. I've dealt with enough magical junk before to know that they have a bizarre way of showing whether or not they approved of who was handling them. The Reality Gauntlet didn't approve of Freakshow and showed its displeasure through a strange makeover of the Trevi Fountain in Greece that changed to depict Freakshow in the center wearing nothing but his underwear and all the horsemen turning around to point and laugh at his misfortune. God I hope the Veil doesn't have a similar sense of humor.

The thought of an inter-dimensional portal pantsing me halted my little zombie walk. It was a good thing too, because I was just one step away from entering the Veil.

A last-minute thought occurred to me as I turned to Clockwork.

"Can you tell her what happened? That I'm ok? That I love her?" I didn't want my little girl to worry over nothing.

"The Veil must remain a secret," The master of time declared, "but I will tell her that you chose your fate and that you're no longer within her reach," a small smile found it's way to his the blue ghosts face, "the last part goes without saying, but I'll tell her anyway."

I gave a grin of my own in return, "So this is the last time I'll see you for a while, any advice before I go?"

"How do you know you'll be able to return at all?"

"Please, I'm the son of Jack and Maddie Fenton. They taught me everything they know about flipping nature the bird and doing the impossible," I gave a thumbs up.

"Perhaps…" the ghost remained neutral; careful not release any indications of the future he saw as easily as the here and now, "Know this then. It is wise to embrace change, but never let it sweep you away."

I nodded, even though both of us knew that I didn't understand the true depth of his advice at the moment, but I would remember it until the time came when it finally made sense, just like I did with the rest of his cryptic little words of wisdom.

With that I looked away from one of my closest friends for the last time and took one step forward.

And one step into the unknown.

* * *

***Naga are a mythical race of half snake people. Google them, they look awesome.**

**Anyway I hope you liked the first chapter. Don't worry too much about Danny being a god-mod-sue like he is now. The Veil has a way of bringing people down to size :D.**


	2. reincarnation, realizations, relocation

**Some of you guys might be confused as to why Danny would know about magic stuff from his own experiences when he didn't encounter them in the show. Well the show kind of leaves hints everywhere to me that there would be other kinds of supernatural in Danny's world. The reality ****gauntlet is a big one. Who made that? Also we see dragons in some form. It would stand to reason that the realm of the living would have Dragons too. Just the fact that ghosts EXIST leaves room for other folktales to make an appearance.**

**With that said Danny Phantom's old world may or may not have mentions of other crossovers. Nothing huge, just a throwaway line or two.**

**Also I was so super flattered with all of the fav's and follows that I got in such a short time! Thanks guys I'll try not to disappoint!**

* * *

The first month or two after stepping through the Veil was a blur, if Danny was to be honest with himself. The sights and sounds that he did take in never seemed to stay for very long before they would slip from his mind, no matter how desperately he tried to hold on to the forming memory. Quite frankly this was terrifying for him.

He had remembered Clockwork telling him that the connection between this world and the Ghost Zone was strange, but _this _was completely unexpected. Did it injure him on the journey? Was he now just lying in a half-conscious brain damaged state in a world that may or may not be past using leeches to cure everything from head colds to depression? If this was the change that stupid time ghost mentioned then Danny was so kicking his ass!

No wait. No he can't; 'Cuz he's in a coma apparently.

Well Crap.

Thanks a lot Clockwork.

Unfortunately the lack of stimulation from the outside world around him forced Danny to retreat into his own mind with plenty of time to question his latest fate with all the imagination of a man who had seen both the strangest and most awful things the world had to offer in his days as a super-hero.

* * *

Danny could have sung with pure elation at realizing he was finally able grasp the sensation of the world around him at last. In fact he tried to, but it came out as some weird gurgle that resembled nothing of the "halleluiah!" he tried to belt out in the voice he had once trained with the original Phantom of the Opera. If he had paid close enough attention he would have noticed that it didn't sound like his voice at all.

No, Danny was taking in the world around him for the first time in what felt like forever.

And what a big world it was!

The hybrid stared around what at first glance would seem to be a perfectly normal late twentieth century living room, despite the lack of a television, and at once noticed that, compared to him (or what he felt to be him), everything was proportionately much too large for him. He felt like a doll sitting on the red and gold patterned rug and had had to crane his neck upwards to see the tops of the plush furniture which all seemed to follow a muted red color scheme, with beige-yellow accents. All of which circled around a huge fireplace, which filled the room with warmth and a feeling of security that he couldn't help but relax into, despite the alarming circumstances.

Perhaps a family of giants had taken in his injured body and nursed him back to health? It really wouldn't have been the strangest thing that had ever happened to him. He didn't have giants per se in his old world, but that was mostly because the beings in his world would usually have something much more interesting than their size that they classified their race by. Pandora had four arms and a magic box that made her stand out way more than her height ever did. Perhaps these would be the same? Maybe the sight of massive bird-people'd greet him?

Danny reclined back onto the rug and laid his head back down. His neck was feeling rather weak and he didn't feel like lifting it anymore. Instead he lolled it to the side where his eyes were greeted to the sight of something black and furry.

In hindsight he had no idea how he had missed this, but right there next to him was a MASSIVE black dog. Even if he weren't somehow shrunk, this dog would have been huge to him. If he had to compare using the only the room as reference he would say the canine would have been the size of a wolf; an alpha male easily. It didn't seem to have any specific breed and just came off as a huge, black, shaggy, mutt, with a long snout and floppy ears.

Danny might have been afraid of the thing too if it wasn't for the silly grin the creature seemed to be wearing (could dogs even smile?). Its mouth may have been wide open and showing its big sharp teeth for him to admire, but it also had its tongue lolled out to the side and its eyes, which he belatedly noted were grey, were filled with mirth.

No, Danny concluded, this pooch wasn't anything to worry about. He gave the dog a smile full of teeth.

…Except they were missing.

His teeth, that is.

His eyes widened and one of his hands flew to his mouth, which he noticed to take much more effort than it should have. He felt around the inside of his mouth to find that every single tooth had disappeared. Not only that, but his hand felt WAY more tiny than he remembered. He pulled the appendage out from his lips to inspect with his eyes and nearly had a heart attack. His hands did NOT look like THAT when he walked through that stupid portal!

They were tiny if Danny was being honest with himself and totally useless for grabbing anything. Now that he thought about it, Danny could feel that his arms and legs were nowhere near as long as they use to be as well when in proportion to the rest of his body. It less like he was in the body of a full grown man and more like he was in the body of a-

No way…

No.

No. No. no. no no no no no no!

'FfffffffuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-'

* * *

Sirius wasn't sure what had happened exactly. It was almost like a fog had lifted from over his godson's eyes and he could see for the first time. Sirius hadn't even known the fog was there, but apparently so, because now little Harry was looking at everything in the living room like it was first time. He spent at least a half an hour just drinking in the same room he had been lounging contently in minutes before simply making spit bubbles and gurgling sounds (and one really strange gurgle). He would inspect a clock on the fireplace with a stare Sirius wouldn't find out of place on a ravenclaw before shifting it to another little knickknack in his best friends living room with the same intensity. To be honest it had looked like some one had fed Harry some of Bilius Weasley's "special" brownies. He couldn't help, but grin; well as much as a dog could grin anyway.

Apparently sitting up became too much for the little guy and he fell back down on the carpet with a little "oomph" (Sirius had cast a small cushioning charm around his head a while ago for just such occasion). Still, the animagus couldn't help but be impressed by little kid's strength as he was only a few months old and shouldn't really be able to even hold himself up at all.

Evidently little Harry thought it was tiring too, as he lolled his adorable little head to the side and his now 'un-fogged' eyes looked at Sirius for the first time. His green eyes widened considerably and the man was almost afraid that the baby would cry. Instead he just saw his adorable little godson drop his mouth open for a moment or two before dazzling him with a gummy smile.

Harry then proceeded to do normal baby activities, like shoving his fist in his mouth and staring at the slobbery thing like it was an accomplishment or something Sirius would never understand, so he laid his head back down on the carpet now that his nephew was done being more strangely entertaining than usual.

And then his sweet little godson let out the most god-awful wail he had ever heard.

He swiftly transformed back into his human form and scooped up the crying baby to see what was wrong. Lily had fed the little one just over an hour ago, so Harry couldn't be hungry. The raven-haired man reluctantly took a sniff at the tyke's diaper and was relieved to find it still smelling fresh of baby powder. However that kind of left the young bachelor out of ideas as for what could be wrong with the babe in his arms.

Luckily he was no longer alone as he could hear footsteps coming from the kitchen.

"Sirius!" A flurry of red hair snatched the weight from his arms, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything Lil's," the dog animagus defended himself, "one minute he was munchin' on his mitt and the next he was screeching like he is now!"

The redhead looked dubious, but didn't say anything. Instead she turned her attention to her son and made soft cooing noises and motions in an effort to console the child.

* * *

It took a little while but Danny finally managed to calm down from his little panic attack. Which he thought was kinda weird since he usually didn't break down into tears like that. Apparently becoming a baby had more affect on him than he thought it did. Luckily that red headed lady, Lily he thought had heard her name was, seemed to have some soothing effect on him. Maybe he remembered more from those first couple months than he thought…?

Now that Danny could think clearly again he could recognize for the first time just what had happened to him. Reincarnation; He had heard about it before from different religions and Ghost Writer's library, but this was the last thing he was thinking of when Clockwork said that the portal would change him.

But it was also the only thing he could really think of that made sense.

The first few months, if his sense of time was to be trusted, were his infant brain configuring itself, his tiny body could only be that of an infant's, and the people around him seem to know him already and cherish him as one of their own.

Which left one question now.

Who was he?

He looked up into the face of the woman who was holding him and was hit with a pang of recognition.

Mother.

Lily, she was his mother. It was as instinctual to call this woman Mom as it would have been to call Maddie Fenton such. He clutched the woman's green sweater and hugged the woman as close as his weak little limbs would let him. It had been so LONG since he had a mother.

Lily seemed to notice Danny's sudden affection because she used the hand that wasn't holding him to gently stroke his back. He let an easy smile spread over his face. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all.

* * *

"Looks like he's calmed down," Sirius commented. He was lounging on one of the leather armchairs now, "though I wonder what had him so wound up in the first place?"

Lily, who was sitting on the loveseat just smiled and looked up from her son, "looks like he just needed some love is all."

Sirius snorted, "If there's one thing that boy's got in spades, it's love."

"We know that, but children need to see these kinds of things," she lifted the baby up by the armpits so that they were face to face, "isn't that right Harry?" the boy in question gave a blinding smile back, "see?"

"Whatever, I bet he just wanted to snuggle into your-,"

"SIRIUS!" Lily's face was red now. She was about to launch herself into a lecture when she heard her son giggling. More specifically giggling, while staring in his godfather's direction. Almost as if Harry understood what Sirius had been…

Lily blinked. No, that would be silly. But then again Harry _is_ James' son…

Damnit.

* * *

So his name was Harry now? He liked it. It was nice and simple and not to fancy. He could work with that.

He later learned his father's name to be James when he came home later that night from something called 'Order Business'. That didn't sound suspicious _at all_, but then again it seemed that his mother and Sirius, who he assumed to be a friend or something, was involved in it too so Harry didn't know what to think.

When James first scooped him up him felt the same connection as he did with Lily. These people were in no way replacements for Jack and Maddie; he felt the same instinctive connection that all children felt to their parents. It was one of unfathomable love and it took Harry's breath away.

The idea of having a family again brought him to tears again which James proceeded to try and soothe him for, which ironically made him sob harder, much to the poor man's dismay.

Eventually Harry had been able to gather himself together again, but he was left tired and yawned.

"Looks like someone's done for the day," his dad remarked. Lily smiled and brushed a hand softly over her son's incoming black hair.

"Yeah…" she agreed, admiring the sight of one of her favorite men holding the other.

"I'll put him to sleep then?" James looked to his wife.

"Good idea."

Harry was then carried up the stairs and into his bedroom where he was gently laid into a crib and tucked in. He was kissed goodnight and left to rest.

Before Harry closed his eyes he noticed something strange hanging above his bed. It looked like a mobile, but unlike the little ghosts that were on the one when he was a baby or the rocket ships he put his kids, this one had…were those broomsticks?

What the hell?

* * *

Apparently they were indeed broomsticks, because at breakfast the next morning his dad had used what he had to guess was a wand of all things to make breakfast in a kitchen that he now noticed had no electrical items whatsoever. The pictures on his newspaper MOVED and owls delivered said paper and mail, not people.

This was new. Harry had encountered magic before as Danny. He had seen humans use magic, but they were few and far between. They were almost always solitary and the few that associated with another were tightly knit groups.

From what Harry had seen here there was apparently enough of them to, not only make up a community, but enough to make an Order of some kind and print its own newspaper. They seemed to have their own market too, if the mobile upstairs was anything to go by.

After feeding from his mother, he resolved to keep a closer eye on his parents and see if they could shed any more light on where he had ended up.

* * *

Wow, this place was weird!

Harry was right in the assumption that his parents were magical to some degree. They were called wizards and witches depending on the genders around here. He was also right in the assumption that they had their own community, and god _some_ community that seemed to be.

It was a secret from non-magical humans, or muggles, which Harry thought was the most inherently insulting term ever. They also seemed to use magic for everything from self-defense to house chores. Harry might have wanted to reprove his new family for the sheer abuse in power if it wasn't so spectacular to watch them do it. It also seemed to be their way of making up for their absolutely soul crushing lack of anything resembling twentieth century technology (did non-magicals have some sort of monopoly on it or something to keep the power balance...?).

Oh, and they were also in the middle of some super-secret war. Couldn't leave that out, could he?

His parents were apparently fighting in this war for some equally covert Order of the Phoenix, that he learned from spread out conversations over the last few months, was fighting against some jerk-face named Lord Voldemort. His French was a bit rusty, but he thought it translated to something like 'flying death'. Weird. It took forever to even get that name though, because everyone was too afraid to say the stupid thing.

'_Our heroes everyone…' _Harry thought at theback of his mind.

But it seemed that he couldn't be too choosey, as evidently the magical government(the Ministry was it…?) were as useless as the Guys in White had been. The fact that his parents were forced to fight for themselves, rather than be doomed by some inept government made him see a bit of himself in them. They were older than he was when he was forced to do it of course, but still. They also seemed to know a bit more about what they were doing than his fourteen year old self too, which was a relief. Although James was so skilled with witty banter that Harry was absolutely honored to be this man's spawn, his godfather too.

Speaking of family friends, it seemed that they were all in the order. In, the very few times Harry went out he had met two other members named Frank and Alice Longbottom. Both were very nice people and they even had a son of their own for Harry to drool with.

Neville seemed like he would grow up to be a very bright boy if the way he acted now was any indication. He had almost no problem with exploring the world around him and putting his hands on almost everything despite Harry discovering that some things in this new world just should NOT be touched. It was hard to keep the little thing in the playpen in all honesty and if Harry didn't know better he would have thought the boy was trying to get Harry to follow him.

Another outing had introduced Harry to a stern looking woman with a square jaw and a monocle. His mother gave her name when she started cooing, "say hello to Amelia, Harry! That's right say He-llo!" while waving his hands for him. He totally did by the way, which earned him quite a lot of praise that he was totally proud of. He was adorable and he knew it.

He had also been introduced to his father's other friends: Remus and Peter. Remus was ridiculously smart, while Peter was… friendly. He enjoyed whenever they could come over, as it meant that they weren't killed like some other people that his new parents seemed to talk about. He stayed silent then, a person's death deserved a moment of silence, not a fussy baby.

The relatively good times couldn't last though, because Harry's parents had gotten wind of some information that Lord Voldemort was looking for them specifically and they were forced to go into hiding. The few visitors they had become practically nothing and he and his family were practically on lockdown for an undetermined period of time.

It wasn't all bad though, Harry mused to himself. He was happy that at least his parents were safe from what everyone else had considered to be dark times. Lily and James were also very doting parents, unlike Jack and Maddie had been, it would have been unlikely that Danny could have kept Phantom a secret if Lily and James were his parents the first time around.

Harry resolved during their impromptu little house-arrest that he would be the best son these two could ask for. He would repay them at least ten-fold for what they had done for him already...

* * *

...Which meant that Harry was absolutely furious on Halloween that year when he learned that not only had their location been compromised somehow, but the Head Deatheater himself had decided to show up and murder his parents.

He heard his father's valiant struggle before he heard what he assumed to be his body drop to the hallway floor, dead. He _watched _his proud mother beg to spare his life in exchange for hers, but her pleas fell on deaf and dispassionate ears. Harry felt sick when he saw the green light exit Voldemort's wand and strike down his new mother. He felt nothing but hot fury when he heard the sick psycho laugh as he did so. He was too angry to notice Lily's last act of love take effect.

After Voldemort was done basking in his latest kill he turned his snake slit gaze to Harry. He was mildly surprised to see the one year old glare at him, but gave it no more thought as he went to finish off the last of the Potter line.

Both were shocked to find that not only did the boy not die, but the curse seemed to rebound on the caster and destroy him. Thus Leaving Harry in a mixed state of grief, fury, and perplexity.

On one hand Harry just became an orphan, which he would never wish on anyone. On another, some little _shit_ just walked into his house and killed his parents right in front of him, for the first instance he had been helpless in a long time. What was really tugging on his brain right now though, was Voldemort's rather anticlimactic death. He would have liked to rip that monster apart himself; it was frustrating that his revenge was taken from him right before his eyes. It was also incredibly puzzling.

In all honesty Harry knew that whatever Voldemort had done to kill his parents would not work on him. Magic couldn't kill him in his world, why would it be any different here? Him living was not a surprise at all to him, but it didn't even feel like the spell had made contact with him. It was like something had reflected it and that had never happened before. He was completely fine. Well, except his forehead; that really burned for some reason.

* * *

The first person to show up at the house was Peter, who was understandably consumed with grief on the site of what used to be his best friends home. What was less understandable was the sheer panic that was instilled in him after seeing the body of Voldemort in front of Harry's crib. What was even weirder was watching Pettigrew grave rob the ex-dark lord of his wand and then high-tail it out of there after giving Harry one terrified glance. Harry could honestly say he was glad to see him go.

When Sirius came by, he also seemed absolutely crushed by the death of James and Lily Potter. It didn't stop him from gleefully kicking the keeled over snake man though, which made Harry giggle. The sound interrupted Black's spur- of- the- moment leg exercise with a jaw drop at the sight of his godson's not deadness.

Black scooped the boy up with a bark of joyous laughter and hugged the child fiercely while crying.

"I don't believe it! James can you see this? Our little midget here beat You-Know-bloody-Who!" He lifted Harry to the ceiling and the boy laughed along with him. Sirius had that effect on people.

Sirius had the boy down at eye level now before he began to speak again, "Don't you worry prongslet. I'll take care of you just like I promised your mum and dad. We'll have fun… and by the time you go to Hogwarts you'll be an even better prankster than I was in seventh year. Your parents… will be so proud! Well, your dad will at least," The man's voice was trembling by then and his smile was falling apart at the seams.

Before Harry knew it, Sirius was hugging him again and holding onto the boy like he was a lifesaver in a particularly turbulent current. Harry would have held on just as tight if his toddler arms had allowed him the strength.

A sound from out the window broke up the two boys and Sirius walked over to see what it was and if it was friendly. Evidently it was, since Sirius wasted no time bounding down the stairs (hadn't he heard of shaken baby syndrome?) to meet the man. Said man turned out to be yet another one of his deceased parent's Order buddies and a tall one to boot.

"Dumbled'er sent me ta pick up Harry an' bring 'im to safety," The man explained somberly. He obviously didn't want to.

Sirius almost growled, "He is safe; he's with me!"

The bearded giant sighed, "Fer now, but how long? Death ea'ers are gonna want a piece a 'im and last I checked they wanted a piece a you too. You can't watch both yer' backs forever."

"And what does Dumbledore got planned that'll keep him so damn safe?" Sirius questioned hotly.

"We're gunna take him to 'is aunt's 'ouse and-,"

"That wretched woman hates magic! She'd never take him in and even if she did he would be even less safe there than he is with me!"

"Dumbled'er said Lily told 'im that she had blood wards set up in case this 'appened. Pow'rful ones," Harry noticed Sirius loosen his grip a little from the almost suffocating clutch he was previously held in.

"Petunia hates magic," he repeated, "She won't take him."

"Dumbled'er has his ways. I'm sure he can get them to agree some'ow," The epically bearded one shrugged.

Sirius' shoulders sagged and he gave out a defeated sigh, "I guess… fine then," he said, "take my bike, it'll make the ride shorter."

The huge man nodded then took Harry into his big arms and mighty beard, which Harry proceeded to cry into. Who the heck were the Dursley's and why couldn't he stay with his awesome shape-shifting godfather? Why does the leader of the Order of the Phoenix get a say in who becomes his next guardian?

No one answered Harry of course as he and the giant guy flew off into the night on very conspicuous flying motorcycle.

* * *

Harry arrived at a horribly boring cookie cutter neighborhood, that he knew for a fact would have driven Sam to violence, and was greeted by two other people, or rather his driver was.

One was a stern and angular woman who looked to be in her middle ages, while the other just looked like what Harry had always imagined Merlin would look like.

Harry was then unceremoniously taken from off the sidecar of the bike and placed on the front porch of one of the many look alike houses on the street. He heard the giant, who the older witch identified as Hagrid, sniffling. God, Harry felt like shedding a few tears too; who leaves a baby on a porch?

The old man said some rot about him being safe here and directed the distraught magical party to leave him, alone, outside.

Safe, his adorable baby butt!

The morning came far too slowly in Harry's opinion and the milkman seemed appropriately horrified to find a baby out with the morning paper. He rang the doorbell to get the residents attention and waited in his van until a thin woman answered the door to find no one there.

Petunia Dursley thought it rather odd that the milkman would alert her to his delivery. He never did so before and it's not like he stuck around this time to chat. She promptly forgot about her dairy deliveryman's behavior though, when she looked down and saw her nephew on her doorstep. She seemed to turn several odd colors before finally shouting:

"VERNON!"

* * *

Harry could say for almost certain that he would not enjoy staying here one bit. Mostly due to the fact that, from what he heard his aunt petunia say about him and his late parents, he could tell that she would not enjoy him staying here one bit. So at least everyone was equally unhappy.

Harry missed Sirius. Dumbledore was _sooooo_ getting a punch in the face if Harry ever met him again.

* * *

**I feel I should state that this is not a Dumbledore bashing fic. If you're here for character bashing you won't find it done intentionally here. That said, Harry doesn't know anything about Dumbledore except for the fact that he's the reason that he and his godfather are not off having unsupervised adventures right now, So naturally he's a little miffed. Also he left him on a porch.**

**I don't like bashing in general and I try not to do it.**

**God, Hagrid your accent is so hard to write! Your beard may be amazing, but your dialogue is a nightmare! D:**

**Reviews would be appreciated so much! I live on feedback.**


	3. Ghostly Hi-jinx and Isolation

**Holy smokes you guys it's another chapter! Inspiration just hit me in the face and I couldn't stop typing. It's a bit shorter than the other ones, but Harry gets to do stuff in it so that's new.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

Harry was not sure which was more horrifying. The fact that his abusive relatives made him sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, or the fact that he would have to grow up in the 1980's. Clearly someone up there must have hated him.

According to the Dursleys, four years old was clearly the normal age to start putting your no good, burden of a nephew to work, because that is _exactly_ what they did. Harry was now expected to keep the house clean to his Aunt Petunia's ridiculous standards, maintain the garden, _cook their food_, and all while he slept under the stairs. He never liked Cinderella; he was even less thrilled to suffer her plight.

Although if he ever mentioned a story like Cinderella to the adult Dursleys they would throw an absolute fit. Anything considered remotely fantastic or out of the ordinary made them absolutely furious with Harry. No, the Dursleys were content to stay in their own bubble of "normal". Woe to anyone who tries to invade it.

Harry just thought they were boring.

And horrible parents.

Their son Dudley, who was the same age as Harry was an awful, spoiled child, who resembled a whale wearing a blonde wig more than he did a kid. He was also a cruel bully that fancied Harry as his favorite victim. After all, Harry was only a scrawny four-year-old now with no one to tell on him. It was perfect.

Which was why Harry was currently running away from his fat cousin and his friends who had just invented a new game called Harry- Hunting. It was a stupid game in Harry's opinion. He was so much faster than Dudley's friends it was hardly a challenge. At least for a little while, then his stamina would run out and they would be waiting.

Not for the first time since Harry had stepped through the veil had he wished he could just become invisible. His powers weren't gone; no he could still feel his ghostly core as sure as he could when he was Danny Fenton, but it felt… different somehow and he was having a ridiculously hard time accessing it. For now though he would only experience his powers in little accidents and spurts that he hadn't had since THE accident. But at least he could explain away those little issues. He had years of practice.

His magic though? Not as easy to explain away, and his relatives kept a sharp eye out for any of _that_ freakishness. It had only happened once so far when he made one of Dudley's new videogames explode, but Uncle Vernon had been absolutely furious when he saw it and locked Harry up in his Cupboard for three whole days. He got water and the bare minimum of food but that was it. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were absolutely determined to keep their house magic free.

Harry didn't really want to think about being locked in the closet now as he had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that, while he was hiding behind a tree, he felt a sudden surge in his ghost core. Before he lost control and Harry ended up phasing into the ground or something, he quickly and desperately grasped tightly on to the feeling for what had to have been the first time in this lifetime. He instantly recognized the sensation as something akin to an old friend he hadn't seen in the longest time. And Harry had every intention of getting reacquainted.

Almost instantly the black haired boy faded out of view and he was free to breathe easy. He could hear the other boys catch up but that didn't matter now that they couldn't exactly see him. Soon enough his pig of a cousin and his two goons were standing in front of the same tree Harry was hiding at.

"Where'd the little freak go?" Dudley demanded. His eyes searched the yard for what he would no longer be able to see.

"I saw the runt come this way, I swear," Piers defended himself. Harry held back a snort, Peirs was almost as scrawny as he was and the only thing that probably made him bigger was probably a healthy diet that Harry was denied.

Dennis didn't say anything, instead he just started to strafe around the area where the three bullies in training had last seen their quarry. Was he _sniffing_ the air? The scarred boy blinked owlishly at the brown haired boy, who actually looked in his direction and started to reach toward Harry. What on earth…?

Brushing aside Dennis' super nose for another time, Harry desperately grasped at his ghostly side once more and was overjoyed to have it respond for a second time. No sooner had Dennis reached Harry's chest did his meaty little hand go right through it and touch the tree behind him instead.

Harry grinned like a maniac. He was back, baby!

Dennis on the other hand was sporting an uncomprehending expression on his Neanderthal-child face.

"I could'a swore…" The green eyed boy might have found it cute if the boy in question wasn't so disappointed that he couldn't beat up another child.

"Dennis?" Dudley called, "quit lookin' at the tree. He's obviously not in it. Let's go look somewhere else."

"Yeah!" Peirs cheered way too enthusiastically, "then we can hit him twice as hard for all the trouble he's giving us!"

"Yeah," Dudley seemed over the moon at the idea. Harry on the other hand had heard enough and was ready for some sweet payback.

The raven-haired boy swiftly got to work. He discreetly got on all fours and made his way over to Dudley's feet, or more specifically his shoelaces. With all the stealth of an unwanted child he undid the knots on both shoes and then retied them both together in a very new and confusing way that he was sure would take his dimwitted cousin forever to figure out. He did the same for his two other tormentors and inconspicuously rose off the grass.

Harry then walked his invisible self across the yard and behind the siding of his house, or maybe his neighbors; they all looked the same to him. From there he dropped the invisibility and intangibility and peeked out to see his cousin and his friends still conspiring on what to do once they caught him. The boy didn't hold back his smirk.

"Hey Dud! How can you do any of that when you're too big to make it across the yard without falling over your own meaty feet!" Normally Harry would feel awful for making jokes about someone's weight, but he knew for a fact that Dudley could have slimmed down at least fifty pounds if he had laid off at least one extra serving at every meal he attended. Also the whole beating him up thing.

Dudley got all red in the face and started to approach that purple that Uncle Vernon was infamous for, but couldn't quite pull it off yet. He let out something between an enraged roar and a squeal, which was evidently a signal to charge because all three did so in unison.

Or at least they tried to anyway. Peirs was the first to go down and he was at least able to brace his fall with his elbows, but that didn't stop him from smashing his chin on the grass slightly. Dennis tumbled on his side, so his shoulder took the brunt of the blow along with his hip. Dudley however fell straight on his face and stomach and got a mouth full of grass and dirt.

Harry might have felt a little bad for doing this to children, but their parents obviously weren't going to teach them manners, so he would have to improvise.

Harry couldn't resist calling out, "Great idea Dudley! You would probably move so much faster if you decided to roll! You might even catch me, but I don't think your friends need to do it too though," He grinned slyly.

Dudley stared at his cousin stupidly for a moment before his features morphed into a mask of pure rage. He even tried to get up to chase the scrawny boy again before falling over again. The dense kid actually tried it two more times before his friends had managed to bring his attention to the intricate knot on his shoes. He looked at his feet before getting even more angry and turning to yell at his freaky cousin only to find him gone.

* * *

Harry Hunting turned into Dudley Haunting after that; not that Dudley actually knew that. For reasons completely unrelated to shoelaces, the boys would trip over absolutely nothing. Branches would smack them in the face (not too hard they were children after all), non-fragile objects (Harry was no vandal) would fall from tall surfaces and let right next to the boys, scaring the crud out of them.

Harry would appear every so often and let the boys chase after him, only to vanish a short while later and creepy things would start happening again. For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry was having more fun than his cruel cousin.

This unfortunately could not last as Harry was called in to make dinner. The scarred boy inwardly railed against the fact that his four year old reincarnation could make a better pork roast than Danny Fenton ever could. That kind of stuff just wasn't right. He sent a glare over to his relatives who were all sitting at the dinner table like being waited on by a child under five was completely normal. His Uncle Vernon saw his glare and sent one right back.

"Something wrong boy?"

"A violation child labor laws," Harry answered.

"We don't pay you," his Aunt Petunia sneered.

"Slavery then," Harry amended.

"You're earning your keep, you little freak," Vernon growled out, "It's bad enough that we have to feed another mouth and clothe another child. The least you could do is show some gratitude."

Harry actually snorted. Normally he just kept his head down and tuned out his uncle's ridiculous attempts at destroying his self worth. He was no Penelope Spectra, and Harry almost wished he were sometimes just so he could look at something _pleasant_ while being lectured if nothing else. Today however, he was feeling restless.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he could access his ghost side for the first time in _years_. It felt like a huge chunk of his soul had finally started returning his calls, and he was the desperate boyfriend. He felt alive again, as ironic as that was, and that left him filled with energy he didn't even know he had.

That being said; what he told Uncle Vernon next probably wasn't very smart, but it felt _so good_.

"Please, you feed Dudley enough food for two boys and still have enough to starve me, while keeping a fully stocked fridge. It's not like you go out of your way to clothe me either, you just give me Dudley's hand-me-downs," Vernon was his famous purple color by now, while Petunia was working her mouth into a frenzy trying to find her voice. Harry didn't stop though, or maybe he couldn't, "Not to mention that completely empty bedroom that I could use, but noooo, I sleep with spiders under the stairs. If you really gave me my _keep_ for all the work I do around here I would have Dudley's bedroom since he does nothing, while I do everything. You know what? Here's what I think of your generosity!"

With that Harry pulled the pork he was cooking out of the oven and threw it on the floor. He stepped in it for good measure. He might have been grinning a little too wide and laughing just a bit too loud, but god if it didn't feel good.

He felt the Elder Dursley male rip him up from the meat he had been joyfully kicking and throw him into the living room. The small boy re-arraigned himself into a crouching position that gave him multiple opportunities of both flight and fight. The stance would have been lost on all but most veteran hand-to-hand combatants. Dursley was not included in that select few, so he advanced on his battle ready nephew none the wiser.

Fortunately for Vernon Harry had started to come down from his little adrenaline high and realized that his Uncle was not someone he could fight and have any kind of satisfying victory. Flipping his Uncle flat on his face may seem like it would be fun at the moment, but it would probably terrify the rest of his family, who were already afraid of him enough to treat him the way the do now. He really didn't want to imagine the hell they'd give him if he actually hurt one of them. No matter how much the man probably deserved it.

So against all better judgment, Harry sighed and relaxed his shoulders just as His Uncle furiously gripped them. Vernon shook the boy in a painful hold.

"YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE FREAK! WHO SAID YOU COULD TALK BACK TO YOUR BETTERS!" The man obviously wasn't thinking clearly as he didn't even bother to hide his opinions now, "THAT LITTLE CUPBOARD IS ALL YOU DESERVE! YOU'RE LUCKY TO HAVE SPIDERS FOR FRIENDS AS THEY'D BE THE ONLY THINGS ON EARTH WHO'D WANT TO BE NEAR A BRAT LIKE YOU! YOU STAY IN THAT CUPBOARD UNTIL YOU'VE LEARNED RESPECT," or at least when the man felt better about himself again. That could be a while.

And with that, Vernon threw his nephew into the tiny closet that the boy called a bedroom and locked the door shut.

* * *

The Dursleys had never beaten Harry before. They weren't exactly careful in their handling, but they never intentionally struck him for the sake of his suffering either. Sometimes Harry wishes they did though. Physical pain was something that he was able to handle even without his healing factor helping him along. Being bullied at school as Danny Fenton had given him a high pain tolerance that only increased when he became Phantom. He could shrug off a fallen building; a punch from someone as pathetic as Vernon would be less than child's play.

No, the Dursleys had never beaten Harry before. In his opinion what they did was so much worse.

They isolated him. They locked him up in a small cupboard and left him all alone for what could be days at a time. The loneliness was crushing and the lack of space was suffocating. He had a light, thankfully but that was really the only other thing in the area besides his bed, which was certainly no pillow-top (Harry wasn't sure if the 80's had pillow tops, but that wasn't the point). He could take Vernon's screaming and Petunia's insults. He could take Dudley's stupid games that usually ended with him being held down and kicked. The one thing that had ever tested Harry's resolve though was being locked up.

He honestly wasn't sure whether it would be worse for him, as he was part ghost and therefore part free roaming spirit, or if it would be worse for a normal child. Even if it were easier on the child, he would never switch places. This was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone.

He could have told social services about the Dursleys. Unlike most abused children, the scarred boy knew that what his relatives were doing was totally illegal and would land them at least several years in prison. Vernon wasn't fooling anyone with his little burden lectures. In fact, having a four-year-old tell him that he was violating several laws at the dinner table probably unnerved him. Which meant that Harry was going to spend even more time in the closet. Joy…

He wouldn't tell on them though. He absolutely should have and went against his moral being to let anyone get away from the justice they so truly deserved. After all, Harry thought, what if the child they were forced to raise was an actual _child_ and not someone who knew better than to take what they said to heart. The kid would have been a mess, his confidence would have been nonexistent, his body wouldn't heal anywhere near as quickly or as nicely as Harry's did, the "don't ask questions rule" would have stunted his education greatly and left him as a doormat for other bullies besides Dudley later in life. Harry shuddered violently. The only good thing about him living with these monsters was that it meant some other poor soul would be forced to.

It was horrible thoughts like that, which made him stare longingly at the police station when they drove past it. The Dursley's only saving grace was the fact that they were Harry's one and only connection to the world of magic. Witches and wizards left him on their porch, so he knew that they knew at least something about it, despite their vehement denial and rejection of anything considered strange and unusual. In fact, the way they passionately clutched to what they considered to be normal just incriminated them more.

If Harry were to expose them for the cruel monsters that they truly were, then Harry would likely end up in a foster home with no way of ever finding out about that magical society that his parents had been part of. He would never find out where they were buried or who even survived that stupid war. He would never figure out how to control these new powers that he had seemed to inherit from his late mum and dad and Harry refused to stumble around adolescence, desperately trying to control new abilities when there was a whole community that could probably help him.

Eventually one of them would drop a clue about his parents and how he could contact at least one of their old friends and then he would pounce.

For now he would let the Dursleys get away with whatever they wanted, he could be patient.

***Wow, Vernon really lost it there. To be fair, his nephew was massacring that poor roast with a Joker grin and you don't let any child get away with that. You also don't call them freaks either, buuuuut…..**

***Harry also doesn't know everything about the Wizarding world, so he would have no idea that Hogwarts would be able to find him anywhere. Everything he learned was from conversations he heard from the adults around him. Excuse him if his knowledge is a bit spotty.**

***Reviews both fuel my passion for writing and give me ideas. I'm not lying when I say reviews drive me to pump out chapters faster.**

**Review Please!**


	4. Back in Business

**So a lot of you have probably been waiting for the chapter to answer for Danny's ghost powers and form. So here it is: Chapter 4**

**Thank You SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed both in account and anonymously. You guys are great. I wish I could write back to those with no account, but I won't take up author's note space for other readers. Sorry guys. It's one of my pet peeves as a writer so I won't subject it to other people.**

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Night had fallen on Privet Drive and the Dursleys had all gone to sleep. Harry however was still wide-awake and had no intentions of visiting slumber town any time soon. How could he when he could finally reach the other half of his soul again?

It had technically never gone away as his more passive non-human traits had stayed behind. He could still see and hear better than any human on earth and he could still heal from injuries in a matter of hours that would normally take people months. Frostbite had told him that his ghost half had tried to alter his human self in an attempt to keep it on par with his Phantom form. It was unsuccessful for the most part, but it left Danny and now Harry in better form for it.

Another passive ability that Harry had held on to was his 'third eye'. It was a truly odd sense that let Harry in on how many people were nearby, and if they had anything supernatural about them. He couldn't tell what, but it separated them from average humans and paranormal, which had helped Harry know what to expect from possible enemies when he had been Danny.

Harry suspected that he still had his ghost sense as well, but he hadn't been near any ghosts and thus hadn't been given the opportunity test it out.

Powers that he had to put conscious effort into using had been practically off-limits to him though, aside from minor accidents to he couldn't control. His basic invisibility and intangibility that he had come to take for granted were completely beyond his depth. He was left grounded, as he could not find the power to fly like he once had, which had been his favorite thing about becoming a ghost in the first place. His more advanced powers like ectoplasmic manipulation, cryokinesis, duplication, body manipulation, overshadowing, telekinesis, and his ghostly wail were nothing more than pipe dreams. That didn't even include several other powers he developed when he had gotten older which included, but were not limited to: shape shifting, electrical manipulation, and the ability to make his own ghost portals.

Yeah, he had been pretty powerful.

Harry shook his head. That wasn't important right now! What was important now was that he had finally been able to use at least his most basic powers as a ghost earlier that day. Multiple times in fact.

Harry turned his attention to the noise upstairs and was satisfied to hear both Vernon and Dudley's snoring. It would take a cannon to wake his relatives up, which is just how the boy wanted it.

Harry took a deep breath and called upon his ghostly half again. He felt a chill spread through his entire being and a grin spread across his face. He willed himself to become intangible and muffled a yelp when he began to sink through his mattress.

Okay, so he might have been just a bit rusty.

He managed maintain just the proper proportions of tangibility to keep him from sinking into the basement and directed his attention to the cupboard door. It was locked, but that didn't mean anything to a ghost now did it? Harry stuck out his hand and as expected, it went straight through the barrier like it wasn't even there.

The green-eyed boy smirked and crawled through the door to his 'room', ending his punishment early. The ravenette then strolled triumphantly down the hall to the large mirror Petunia had hung for when she had to gussy up on her way out of the house. He didn't usually get more than a passing glance at his reflection on most days. His Uncle Vernon would accuse him of being vain if he was ever caught staring for too long. That said, he actually hadn't really had any good idea of what he looked like at all.

The sight that greeted him was rather surprising. He actually resembled his parents for one thing. Danny Fenton had never really taken after either his mom or dad and it was kind of nice to see his parents reflected in himself now that he thought about it. He could see his dad's wild mane and his strong jaw line. He could also make out his mother's heart-shaped face and emerald-green eyes. Curiously enough, the combination of his parents' traits made him look almost the same as he did as Danny Fenton. His eyes weren't blue this time and his face was a just a bit thinner, but the resemblance really was uncanny. He might have been able to throw it off a bit if he wore glasses like his father, but his sight was better than perfect so that wasn't happening.

The boy blinked and cursed silently for getting sidetracked.

Harry took a step back now and focused on what he had needed the mirror for in the first place. One white ring split into two from his midsection; each traveled separately either up or down his body. Harry closed his eyes and sighed, feeling absolutely fantastic about being Phantom again.

When he opened his eyes though, he was confused. Standing in the mirror was not Phantom, but twenty-four year old Danny Fenton. What the heck? That was unexpected; he thought he'd lost that form. He kinda figured that was the trade he got for becoming Harry Potter, but if was being honest it was a kind of relief to know that part of him wasn't gone forever.

Still, Harry didn't want Fenton, he wanted Phantom, and so he tried again. This time when the rings split over his body he was satisfied to find that gravity no longer felt like it applied to him. This triumph was short-lived as the white-haired boy looked in the mirror again to find that his Phantom form was now four years old.

He looked the same as he did before he entered the Veil. He had his black and white HAZMAT suit with the DP symbol. The plain white piece of cloth that he wore as a belt in his teenaged years had been replaced with something resembling a white version of batman's utility belt, so he could hold his weapons arsenal (weapons, by the way that he noticed were _missing_). His boots were tipped at the heel and toes with cold iron, as were his knuckles for combat with fae enemies. It wasn't light, but he could lift it. His hair was still short and white. His eyes were still a toxic green, and he still looked tanner than a ghost had any right to be.

Except that he was four.

…Goddammit all.

He didn't know why this surprised him or why he had expected that his ghost form would be unaffected by his reincarnation. In fact now he understood why it was so hard to use his powers before; his ghost form was forced to start all over again and Harry had never had to deal with ghost powers developing through childhood. Puberty, yes; Childhood, no. For all he knew they would take more time to develop than before.

The half dead boy wanted to curse at his reflection, but restrained himself. He might start quiet, but if he let himself go he would probably wake his family up and they did not need any more incentive to call him a freak. Or know that he had escaped from his closet.

He sent a dirty look upstairs. Back talking to his Uncle Vernon was probably one of the dumbest things he had done in a while, but he couldn't really bring himself to regret it. He just wished he didn't have to spend, what would probably be, the next week under the stairs.

Oh who was he kidding? There was no way Harry was actually gonna stay in that cupboard the whole time. Things were going to change around here. The Dursleys may know what to be on the lookout for when magic presents itself, but they're going to find themselves in a whole new ballgame when ghosts decide to get sneaky. And there was nothing in the world more stealthy than a ghost.

* * *

A week had past since Harry had first been sentenced to the cupboard. Mind you he didn't actually stay in it the whole time, but just the daytime. At night he would sneak out and stretch his ghostly tail. Harry took great pleasure in invisibly exploring the sky above his neighborhood. One day when he felt particularly adventurous, Harry had traveled to the town and even made it to the outskirts of London. It's not like the Dursleys would ever take him anywhere so he would just make do.

He'd make little tests to see what powers worked and which didn't, careful so that the Wizarding Guys in White, if they existed, wouldn't catch him. He really didn't want his first contact with the magical community to be his arrest.

So far he could only turn invisible, intangible, fly and manipulate ecto- energy to a small extent. He was able to make at least one duplicate and was working on its lasting power; it was so much easier to do it in this life since he actually knew how from the get-go. His strength and durability had also been greatly bolstered, but not quite to the level it was before. He could deal with that though, all that mattered now was that he could _fly_ again.

Knowing that had boosted his mood so much that not even isolation in the cupboard could bring him down. However spending hours in the small space was boring and even though Harry had usually used it for the sleep he didn't get in the night hours, the ghost child had decided that he was tired of being locked up.

Harry invisibly phased out of his cupboard and looked into the kitchen where he heard his Aunt and Uncle talking about the neighbors from across the street. Harry rolled his eyes; it was really sad when two adults were even shallower than the A-list at Casper High. At least Paulina would have thought real magic was cool, if only for the fact that it could do household chores for her.

Dispelling thoughts of his previous bullies, Harry snuck up on two of his current ones. His aunt was washing the pots herself, since He was not available to do it at the moment, and insulting the young couple across the street's wind chimes that hung harmlessly on their deck. Harry had liked the kaleidoscope effect it had when the light reflected off its small mirror shards. His guardians seemed to disagree with him.

"Where does that woman think she lives anyway? A commune?" Harry raised an invisible eyebrow, "Something like that has no place in a respectable neighborhood like this one," respectably boring, Harry was tempted to point out.

The ghost boy had just about enough of his xenophobic Aunt's complaints and leaped straight for her. Rather than crashing into her like any normal person would have, he was simply absorbed into her person. Petunia stood rigid for a second before looking to her husband who was half reading the morning paper and listening to whatever his dutiful wife said. Perfect.

"Speaking of respect," 'Petunia' drawled, "don't you think that boy learned his lesson by now?"

Vernon practically threw down his newspaper, "He threw dinner on the floor darling! And started attacking it like a savage!" The half ghost winced inwardly. That really wasn't one of his brightest moments.

"Yes he did, but it was probably just all of that freakishness building up with nowhere to go," Harry tried. He might as well try and use the Dursleys' completely backwards logic against them, "I'm sure a whole week in that tiny cupboard squashed any strangeness from that night," Vernon stroked his chin as if what she said had made any sense whatsoever and nodded a bit reluctantly. He looked at her curiously though.

"We had agreed to let the boy spend another two weeks," Harry almost sputtered, "in there. Why let the boy off early?" Well, Harry _had_ felt a _little_ guilty for temporarily removing someone of their free will, but somehow Vernon had not only managed to make him feel justified, but also completely vindicated. Oh well, time for more Dursley logic.

"We shouldn't let the boy stay in there too long," the possessed woman 'reasoned', "after all, the longer he stays in there, the longer he gets out of doing house work!" Harry made sure to make Petunia sound extra indignant.

Vernon's eyes bulged out as he looked at his wife's hands, which were currently holding a pot and a dishcloth. His mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Poppet put those _down_. You shouldn't be forced to do those things," Harry forced Petunia's face to smile; of _course_ she shouldn't. Let the four-year old in the closet do it!

When his hefty uncle lifted himself from his chair Harry took that as the signal to book it from his awful aunt's body and fly back under the stairs. It was a relief to get out of the woman; Harry didn't really want to spend much time in that lady's mind. He did learn that she kept everything she got from his mother in the attic though. Score!

The door to his cupboard was ripped open and most the light that would have filled his tiny room was blocked by his Uncle's hulking silhouette. Vernon's meaty paws grabbed onto Harry's scrawny arm and yanked him out from the enclosed space.

"Well I hope you enjoyed your vacation boy," The man stated like solitary confinement was his nephew's preferred method of relaxation, "but it's time you get back to work; starting with the dishes. Your aunt has been doing all your work for you, so you had better be grateful!" Harry had almost said that most adults do their own dishes anyway, but quickly clamped his trap shut in case his Uncle remembered that he had locked his nephew up for being lippy in the first place and decided the scarred child didn't learn his lesson yet. He totally didn't, but that wasn't the point.

Instead, Harry just stood up and said, "Yes Uncle Vernon," before walking into the kitchen to relieve his aunt from her kitchen duties.

When he approached his aunt in the kitchen she turned around and jumped a bit.

"How did you get out of your room boy?!" She demanded. Luckily she wasn't loud enough for her husband to hear.

"Uncle Vernon said I was done being lazy and it was time to do the chores again," Petunia seemed to think it over for a moment before being satisfied with his answer. She then shoved the pot and rag she was holding into Harry's chest and declared:

"Well don't just stand there looking stupid! Get to work!" And with that Mrs. Dursley stomped out of the room like Harry had just insulted her. She didn't see the victorious grin on her nephew's face.

* * *

Life with the Dursleys suddenly became a bit more bearable to Harry. He still slept in a cupboard, he was still expected to cook and do all the chores, his aunt and uncle still made sure to tell him how much of a freak he was when they had the chance, and Dudley still picked on him. However, an invisible sandwich or two that he hid from sight would make sure he got more to eat than just table scraps. He was no longer in danger of suffering _permanent _damage via malnutrition. Duplication (he could only do one right now for about a half an hour) made the chores go by in half the time. Petunia and Vernon had suddenly found themselves _very _sympathetic to his plight and convincing each other to let up on the boy's unreasonable punishments, only to not remember doing so later. Harry had tried to avoid doing that last one too much, not only would he possibly get blamed for it somehow (and they wouldn't be wrong), but it just didn't feel right to overpower someone's free will like that. No matter how good the cause, it was still wrong and Harry knew it. And he would never stoop so low if the Dursleys didn't keep asking for it!

Dudley still tried to pick on him, but he had a lot more trouble finding his favorite punching bag. Said punching bag would usually just hide and run from his dense cousin, but he figured that he'd try to shake up his routine today. Harry invisibly transformed into Phantom. He didn't bother to say his catch phrase. Tucker and Sam didn't need a warning; they hadn't for a long time. Now a white-haired, four-year old was floating where Harry Potter had been previously standing.

Said kid rushed off into the sky and flew into town. He hovered unseen over the downtown area in order to find something to do. It had been forever since he had been off Privet Drive!

He thought of going to an electronics store, but quickly remembered that he had no money to spend. It would probably just have been depressing anyway, seeing as the computing software had not made any breakthroughs worth mentioning yet for the average consumer. For once, he was glad Tucker wasn't with him. Being so close, yet so far from his beloved gadgets would have been torture for him.

Now that Harry thought about it, he wouldn't be able to do much downtown without any money. He was also a little kid without his parents, so that might set off some alarms too. He could turn into Fenton of course, but that didn't solve the money issue.

His gaze caught itself on a movie theatre and he felt like squealing when he saw one of the titles playing. It was just too perfect of an opportunity to miss and way too ironic!

Harry let out a slightly impish snicker, before landing imperceptively in front of the theatre doors and sneaking into the next showing of The Ghostbusters.

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**Of course you would Danny…**

***I don't own The Ghostbusters by the way.**

**So yeah, the logo to his suit hasn't changed cuz almost all changes to his suit in canon were done by someone actively messing with it. Even my little add ons were just something he improvised in his later career as a conscious choice. If anything were to happen to the logo in this story it would have to be because an outside factor would have to meddle with the suit. It doesn't update itself.**

**The veil was the one to take away his weapons cuz apparently it has its own inter-dimensional security *shrugs***

***Special note I got at least 164 people to read my story from beginning to current chapter, 870 views, 34 follows and 16 favs, but only 13 reviews? Guys just a simple 'I liked it' would be great. If you like a person's story you should let them know. It's what you want for your stories so try and return the favor!**


	5. Books and Amusement Parks

**You guys are great. you really are!**

**Danny is 10 in this chapter in case that wasn't clear, but he's 7 in the flashback**

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It was four pm and Harry was just walking out of the library. It had become routine to go there right after school ended and enjoy what free time he did have before he would have to go back to the Dursley's house and make dinner. Harry chuckled self depreciatingly at himself. Danny would've never been caught dead at a library; he would have had his eyes glued to his favorite cartoon, sitting less than a foot away from the TV. Just like every other ten year old his age did in Amity Park.

It was mostly the same here too except Harry wasn't allowed to watch cartoons. His aunt and uncle didn't want him to get any 'ideas'. British television was also a bit different from its American counterpart, but he could still enjoy it during the rare times he got the chance to.

One thing that was available to Harry though, was the public library. Although it took a small amount of white lies from both Harry and one of the librarians there to get that to work, they pulled it off.

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It had happened in the second grade when school had let out for the day. The school had been within walking distance of the Dursley's residence, so they had no need to take the bus or get picked up. Dudley always walked back to the house with his friends from the neighborhood, while Harry lagged behind. He usually stayed invisible so his cousin wouldn't be tempted to try picking on him.

After one particularly nasty day at school Harry had no desire whatsoever to return to his relative's dwelling. He watched his cousin and friends walk off without even noticing he wasn't following. Harry made a start to catch up with Dudley before stopping. He really didn't want to follow his dunderheaded relative. He made absolutely every effort possible to make the raven-haired boy's educational experience more miserable than his last one.

Harry may have no longer been a loser for being the son of the two craziest scientists in town, but being Dudley's cousin was worse. Worse, because apparently 'cousin' meant 'punching bag' and no one wanted to be near a boy with a target painted on his back. The few prospect friends that had approached the small boy would be immediately scared off and Harry honestly couldn't bring himself to try and go after them. He really couldn't put a few kids in harms way just so he could be a little less lonely and he couldn't use his ghost powers to get even like he could at Privet Drive because there were way to many witnesses. The risk of getting caught was so much higher and he wasn't quite as 'invisible' as he was as Danny Fenton thanks to Dudley's ridiculous hand-me-downs. It would also raise quite a few questions if tiny little Harry Potter performed a pile-drive on his massive relative.

Harry didn't need the friends either; not like most other children his age who were still developing and needed social interaction. Don't get him wrong; he would have loved to have some. Danny's whole world had revolved around his friends and loved ones for the first part of his life and ghostly companions for most of the second. But Danny also didn't have a family that was completely hell-bent on making him miserable. Harry did though.

Luckily for the scarred boy, the schoolteachers adored him. Despite his less than admirable appearance, Harry was polite, participated in class and he was _smart_; unlike his well dressed, but dim cousin. They had suggested to the elder Dursleys at least twice that Harry should skip to the next grade, and were surprised at the way they had all but viciously denied the idea and asked if their son could instead. From then on the primary school had been a bit wary of the Dursley clan.

Dudley had been furious to find that the result of this meant that he would have to wait until teachers were _not_ around so he could beat his cousin. It did give him cause to start calling Harry 'Teachers' Pet' and other such handles though, which had quickly caught on with the rest of the student populace. If Harry had been a normal seven year old that might have bothered him; as it was, he was absolutely flattered to be compared to someone as adorable as Speedy, the class gerbil. The rodent was beloved by all the girls in class and there was no shame in that.

The real shame was that Dudley and his friends had managed to find Harry while the teachers hadn't been looking that day and got in a good beating. They knew Harry wouldn't tell on them because if he told on Dudley then the teachers would call the Dursley parents, who would make all sorts of excuses in order to try and get Dudley out of trouble and blame Harry somehow. If that didn't work then they would reluctantly promise to punish their son, then immediately drive home and throw Harry in the closet. It really just wasn't worth it.

So now Harry was bruised and battered (granted he was quickly healing) and he really didn't want to go back to his aunt Petunia's nagging, so he wouldn't. Harry made his way around the corner ally of the school by the dumpsters and transformed into Phantom. He shot off into the sky and looked downward at the city below.

He looked forlornly to the movie theatre. Nothing good was playing right now and all the films worth watching would be coming out that summer. He couldn't wait to see Full Metal Jacket and RoboCop in theatres. He was still broke so he couldn't really go shopping either, not that the Dursleys would let him keep anything he bought. He had to pay to go bowling or play mini golf too. It also wouldn't be as fun doing that type of thing alone…

Harry sighed and was just about to fly back to Privet Drive when he spotted a mother taking her children into what looked like an ordinary municipal building. Upon further inspection he noticed a plain white light-up sign that spelled out 'Little Whinging Public Library'. The boy could have sung, but thought better of it. He was trying to be stealthy and that would have kind of defeated the purpose.

The last Potter descended to yet another dumpster and flew inside. He returned to his human self and climbed out of the trash receptacle but not before discreetly letting the trash fall through his intangible body. Ahhh that brought back memories…

Harry left from the back entrance and walked casually around to the front. He walked up the stairs to the building (why did libraries always have stairs?) and through the front doors in the not ghostly way.

The scarred boy immediately took note of how this library looked like every other library he had every seen in his life had been blended into some abomination of pure averageness. He couldn't help but be just a tiny but impressed at how much effort the Dursleys had placed into choosing where they lived if even the library was ridiculously normal, and they probably never even set foot in this place.

However, despite its commonness, it was still a library, which was filled with books. Books, by the way, that Harry wouldn't have to pay for if he wanted to read them.

One of the librarians seemed to have noticed the boy at the entrance who appeared to be staring at nothing and decided to help the poor kid.

"Are you lost young man?" a deep male voice snapped Harry from his daydream. He looked up at the direction of the noise and found himself face to waist with a man in his late twenties or early thirties. He had a strong jaw and nose, with a bald shaved head that reflected the fluorescent lighting of the building off of his light coffee tinted skin. He sure didn't seem to be built like the librarians back at Amity either. Harry's improved eyes could see the impressive guns hiding under the sleeves of that relatively thin work shirt. The man had a tank top to act as an under shirt but Harry was pretty sure that the musculature under there would be equally as impressive as his arms. The boy gulped, he honestly wasn't sure which librarian he feared more; the hag back at Amity or the bruiser in front of him.

"Young man…?" Harry flinched a bit when the man touched his shoulder. The librarian raised a thick black eyebrow.

"I'm not lost," Harry said quickly. He didn't want the man to throw him out. Harry then inwardly shook his head and wondered why he would believe some one would throw him out of a building that was open for everyone's use.

"I've just never been inside a library this big before," at least not as Harry he hadn't, "I mean we have the one at school, but this is…" the ravennette trailed off, pretending to be amazed. And he was, just not at the size.

The tall man smiled and suddenly he didn't look half as intimidating as Harry had at first glance. Now that he really looked at all of the darker man he saw the half moon reading glasses perched on his nose along with smile and laugh lines starting to make indents on his young face. The cartoonish lettering on his tie, falling together in a collage of famous author names took even more bite from Harry's original appraisal, but added to his shame. When had he started looking at everyone as potential threats?

"Yeah well we got a bigger budget for our books than your school probably does. Not much… but yeah," The man had tried to explain, "You can call me Mr. Luvre by the way. Can I ask what your name is?"

The ravennette smiled, "It's Harry," Mr. Luvre nodded.

"So I take it this is your first time here?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted.

"Are your parents with you," Harry winced, but not for the reason an orphan usually would.

"My parents are dead," the boy muttered. The adult flinched and silently berated himself for the mistake, but pressed on.

"I see, I'm sorry," and Harry could tell the man was sincere. Mr. Luvre had knelt down on one knee so they were now eye to eye and squeezed the boy's shoulder gently, "Who takes care of you then?"

It was Harry's turn to flinch. Dang it! Couldn't the guy just feel guilty and talk about something else?

"My aunt and uncle. They don't like me much," Harry admitted.

"Now I'm sure that's not true," Mr. Luvre assured Harry. The boy felt kind of bad for the man here. In most cases Mr. Luvre would have probably been right and would have most likely been just dealing with a child who got into a fight with his relatives. Unfortunately for both of them Harry was not like other children.

"They got their son over thirty presents for his birthday," The skinny boy stated, "all I got for mine was my uncle's old socks," anything the man had been going to say next seemed to have fallen right out of Mr. Luvre's mouth which was now hanging open.

Harry gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I'm used to it."

The adult's eyes turned cold, "You shouldn't have to be," when he saw the boy he had been comforting recoil a bit he immediately softened back up, "Don't be scared kiddo. You're in no trouble, it's fine. It's your family I'm none to pleased at."

Harry's eyes widened a bit. He didn't like where this was going. He stayed silent for the moment though, if even tried to defend the Dursleys right now it would only make it seem worse.

"Adults can't go around treatin' children like that," the man tried to convince the boy in front of him. Harry used this as an opportunity.

"Well it's not that bad, they don't hurt me or anything," the scarred child conveniently left out his cousin's beating and Vernon and Petunia's rough handling, "and I get enough to eat too, which is more than some kids can say," he also didn't mention that the only thing staving off harmful malnutrition was him sneaking an invisible meal away from his 'family', "They just don't really like to take me places and usually leave me with Mrs. Figg," he figured he'd add at least some truth, "So I thought I'd go here on my own since they'll never take me anywhere."

The man in front of him sighed deeply. He was almost positive there was more the story than what the kid had let on. Just because you weren't being hit didn't mean you weren't being abused. He also knew that it was unlikely that the kid would tell him anymore, kids in his type of situation almost never did. He didn't even know the boy's last name though, and even then he didn't have the evidence to back up any of his suspicions.

He did have the boy with him at the moment though, and if he could gain his trust then it would go a long way in helping the kid, but first…

"Do your Aunt and Uncle know where you are Harry?" The boy's eyes widened almost comically. That would be a 'no'.

"They're gonna be so mad!" a bit of real panic had creeped into Harry's voice. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all…

"Calm down, if you want, I'll call them for you and tell them where you are," Harry considered saying no because that would just make his Uncle angrier later, but figured that declining the request would make him look even more suspicious.

"Okay," the scrawny hybrid muttered reluctantly. Mr. Luvre grinned.

The two made their way over behind the front desk and to a work owned phone. Harry supplied the name and number of his family for Mr. Luvre and the two waited for someone to answer, which they did in about to ringing cycles.

"_Hello?"_ Mr. Luvre wasn't really sure how a woman could be so shrill when she wasn't yelling, but decided that it would be rude to ask.

"Yes, is this the Dursley residence?"

"_Yes it is. May I ask who's calling_?"

"Right, I'm Mr. Henry Luvre, a librarian over at the Little Whinging Public Library. I called on behalf of your nephew who-"

"_I am so sorry for all the _trouble_ I'm _sure_ he's caused you-_" The bald man frowned. Harry had been nothing, but polite, even when he had mistakenly asked the boy about his late parents.

"There was no trouble at all madam. In fact he was a pleasure to meet,"

"_Well that's very nice of you Mr. Luvre, but you won't have to worry about him coming to bother anyone over there again._" Henry held back a growl. It was a bit too late for him to _not _worry about the kid. Harry would definitely be coming back to the library if Mr. Luvre had any say about it. He had to play his cards right though.

"Well that could be a problem," The man admitted

"_What?_" Evidently the woman was not used to others seeing through her lies.

"You see little Harry liked coming here so much that I offered him the opportunity to volunteer to work here and he was all to happy to accept." Harry's head snapped up and looked shocked at the librarian in front of him and his little lie.

"_Oh, I don't think-_,"

"Now Mrs. Dursley, from the sounds of it little Harry's been in his fair share a'messes. Something like this can only be good for a lad like that. It would keep his nose out of trouble," there, Henry thought smugly. Served the woman right for insinuating that her own nephew was a hooligan.

"…_I suppose you're right, but can you send him home now? It's about time for dinner,_"

"Alright, but I expect to see the boy bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow," He didn't know if that would help Harry at all, but he had to try.

"… _Yes, well right, have a good evening Mr. Luvre_," The woman seemed to be talking through gritted teeth.

"Yes, you too Mrs. Dursley," Mr. Luvre was talking through a smug grin.

He hung up the phone and was immediately bombarded by the little midget in question.

"Why did you say that? We never agreed to anything like that," Harry was a bit frustrated at the man in front of him who had apparently made some kind of plan without his consent. It was truly awful to be a child sometimes.

"No we didn't, but your Aunt and Uncle don't know that and now they think that you'll be expected here everyday afterschool from now on instead of having to go back to that house," Harry's breathing quickened. Was this guy serious, was he really offering him a chance to…

"…Thank you," he really couldn't say anything else at the moment.

Mr. Luvre ruffled his already untamable mess of hair and smiled softly.

"Go home boy, before they much angrier at you."

Harry nodded a bit stiffly and ran out the door, back to his furious family.

When he got home he received an earful about how he had them all worried sick and he restrained himself from rolling his eyes. They would only be worried about how it would look if their nephew had run away. They then proceeded to call him an ungrateful little brat and threw him in the cupboard without supper. Apparently they didn't really care what Mr. Luvre hoped to see the next morning. Oh well, he'd probably just sneak out and make himself a sandwich anyway.

* * *

That had been three years ago. Ever since then Harry would spend several hours at the library doing homework, reading up on subjects that made Mr. Luvre's eyes pop, helping with chores that the other man assured him that he didn't actually have to do, even though he was 'volunteering', and maybe tinkering around a bit with the magic he had inherited from his parents.

He didn't do the last one too often in the library though. Magic, he had noticed, was extremely unpredictable and could do the strangest things. In the fourth grade he had turned his teacher's wig blue. There was no evidence to prove it had been him, but his Aunt Petunia knew he was guilty and even if it had been someone else she probably wouldn't have cared. Another time, Aunt Petunia has been absolutely fed up with his hair and sheared him bald except for the bangs. It all grew back the next morning. Evidently magic could teleport as well, because one time when he was running away from Dudley and his goons he felt like he had been pulled through a tube and ended up on the roof. Harry had infinitely preferred his ghostly teleportation to that experience.

So yeah, magic was a bit capricious at times and Mr. Luvre really didn't deserve to have a portal to the world of Lovecraft opened up in his library. He'd done far too much for Harry to even think of such a thing.

He told the black haired boy about his time in the British armed forces and 'taught' Harry some self-defense moves. He shared that he had loved books even as a kid and how they had helped keep hold of his sanity during his time with the army. He saw a bit of himself in the scar-headed kid and his passion for reading. The green-eyed boy didn't have the heart to tell the man it was his way of coping with the crappy technology of the era. That would have just made things awkward.

He still kept an eye out for any hints Harry might unintentionally leak about his home life, but the ghost hybrid knew what the young librarian was trying to do and spoke as little about the Dursleys as possible. He might have given the scrawny boy a safe haven to avoid his relatives, but he wouldn't allow Henry to take him away from his only link to his parents; no matter how good his intentions were.

Harry still hadn't made much headway on finding out more about his parents by the way. He did investigate the attic to rifle through Petunia's Lily stuff and managed to come across some letters the two had exchanged. Unfortunately all the letters that Lily had sent her sister had been carefully worded and devoid of anything revealing. He learned nothing that he didn't already know and came to understand just how deeply his Aunt's jealousy and resentment of her sister went.

Petunia's feelings of inferiority might have been a little less extreme though, if her parents didn't obviously favor his mother so much. Harry looked through some old photo albums and scrapbooks that showed just how _overjoyed_ the Evans parents truly were to have had a witch in the family. It may have been unintentional, but it was still favoritism. That, however did not give Petunia the right to repeat her parents' mistakes or do any of what she did really.

So other than a greater understanding of his aunt's rage, nothing really came out of his excursion to the attic. He still needed to stay at the Dursleys, which meant he would continue to suffer their cruelty. At least Henry had offered him this haven.

Unfortunately today was Friday and Harry's 'volunteer work' didn't extend to the weekends so the boy made sure to walk home just a bit slower than usual. It might tick off his Uncle a bit, but that didn't seem to make the ravennette walk any faster. Instead he just looked at small objects like leaves and litter near the sidewalk and tried to move it with his magic.

It wasn't anything big, but it was one of the few things Harry had gotten the hang of doing that would have a predictable outcome. He had tried to change one of Dudley's old hand-me-downs once, into something at least somewhat attractive, but had ended up with some three-armed, color puked abomination of a sweater instead of what he had hoped would be something like the white and red t-shirt he had worn in his teen years. That was the last time he had experimented on clothes for a while; at least while his testing supply was so greatly limited.

Harry could somewhat communicate with animals, but it really only enhanced what he could have done as a ghost. Animals had always been hyper aware of spirits and spirits were somewhat empathetic to animals emotions and needs. If a dog was barking at nothing, it was likely to be communicating with a spirit. Although animals don't have their own language, Harry could still sense their thoughts and feelings that animals projected much more freely than beings of higher sentience. It was just that much stronger now.

Snakes were another story altogether though. Harry had no idea when all the serpents in the world could have gotten together and agreed on a language but they did and for some reason Harry could understand it. It was also a language that sounded different to others according to a freaked out third grader that told him to stop making hissing noises while he was making conversation with a surprisingly funny garter snake. He politely told the kid to piss off and mind his own business and returned to the chat. He wasn't doing anything wrong, why should he stop?

Harry now had several leaves and soda bottles floating above him in a serpentine pattern, which reminded him of the mutant hotdogs his first father, Jack Fenton, had managed to tame. It was the little moments like that when his genius really shined through.

Harry's happy nostalgia was ruined though, when he finally approached number 4 Privet Drive. He immediately ceased his control of the miscellanies trash above him, which then proceeded to fall on his head. The ghost boy turned intangible for a moment so the waste would fall through. He walked up the steps to his house and opened the door to his wretched relatives watching the tube.

Vernon turned around and looked at his nephew like he was the scum of the earth. So really, Vernon just looked at his nephew like he did everyday, "Took you long enough. Well, what are you standing around for? Dinner won't cook itself you know!"

Harry took the hint and hurried away from the man and into the kitchen. While he was setting the chicken up to grill he heard Dudley scream:

"LOOK AT IT MUM!" this naturally got Harry's attention, so he turned invisible and snuck a look into the living room to see what the fuss was about.

Dudley had grabbed the collar of his mother's shirt and roughly pulled her forward so she would see the TV or rather, what Dudley wanted her to see on the TV. The half ghost glared at the brutish father who was completely at ease with his son jerking his wife around like a ragdoll. Harry shook his head and stared at the television for himself. It appeared to be advertising a grand opening for some new amusement park. It said the standard 'bring your family and friends' spiel that every park did to rake in every last customer and said something about opening day sales and opportunities that would totally happen again in some other holiday form. Still, if Harry knew Dudley like he thought he did, then now was about the time when…

"I WANNA GO!" Ah, here it is, "Adrenaland is opening tomorrow and I wanna GO!" good old predictable Dudders.

"Sounds like a wonderful idea for a family outing," Petunia managed to simper, while her neck was still stuck in her son's hold.

"Of course it's a wonderful idea, my son would only think of the brightest proposals," the older Dursley man crowed. Harry sighed and went back to preparing the meal for the night.

At dinner Dudley would stop talking about what he was going to do once he got to Adrenaland tomorrow, even when his mouth was full. This resulted in the hefty boy spewing chunks of food everywhere except his smaller cousin who had turned intangible, yet still visible during the boy's disgusting onslaught.

Harry kept quiet through the duration of the meal like he usually did. It never did any good to bring attention to himself. Unfortunately it looked like the Dursleys had felt like acknowledging Harry's existence tonight.

"We'll be going to a park tomorrow," His aunt Petunia stated frostily, "don't for a second believe that we would take you with us." Harry honestly had no hope of that. That would have taken way too much kindness and the Dursleys were not capable of such, "Vernon's going to call Mrs. Figg tonight so you'll going to her house tomorrow." Harry shuddered a bit. That woman took crazy cat lady to a whole new level, "Understand boy?"

Harry nodded before he stood up to do the dishes. His weekend had somehow gotten worse.

* * *

**So yeah, not much happened in this chapter, but we did get a closer look at how the Dursleys have affected Danny and he's not four anymore! We also get the set up for the next couple of chapters in which I take a hockey stick to the canon's FACE! WHOOO!**

**As for Harry's magical dabbling, c'mon guys this is Danny. The guy had to master ALL of his ghost powers on his own in his first life, and there was absolutely no one to help him there aside from some crazy frootloop who wanted to bang his mom and murder his dad. That kind of thing builds up a kind of self reliance and courage to experiment. Magic to Darry is just another power that he hasn't mastered yet.****  
**


	6. Ho Snap!

**Holy space dolphins, you guys! We get to see Hogwarts in this chapter! sort of...**

* * *

Harry had to admit, he may have teased Vlad about getting a cat, but he was more of a dog person at heart.

He didn't hate cats; but he also just didn't seem to have the same single-minded devotion that Mrs. Figg seemed to exude for all things feline. After all, Harry thought to himself, who else kept an up to date photo album of their cats in this day and age? This kind of insanity wasn't supposed to come around until Tumblr was invented! Mrs. Figg was clearly a pioneer ahead of her time, but not the kind of innovator that Harry wanted to encourage. He didn't like looking at pictures of cats on the Internet when it was popular and he most certainly didn't like looking at Arabella's creepy scrapbooks now.

The crazy cat lady took no notice of Harry's suffering however, she merely reclined farther back in her cat litter scented chair and pointed to another photograph in the book that the two were currently looking at.

"Oh! Doesn't Tufty look absolutely _adorable_ in that bonnet?" the daft woman cooed. Harry was sitting on the floor in front of the chair, holding one the many, many cat albums the lady had put together. There had to be one for every year of each cat's life. They were currently going through Tufty's fourth one and apparently it was stylish that year to dress up your fur-ball in baby clothes. Harry managed to squash his inner Sam (then apologize profusely for hurting her) before she could get him started on how this was obviously cruel to the animal in question, how so many pictures could have blinded the poor creatures and why did this house smell like _cabbage_? Okay so the last one was Harry's complaint, but it was just as important!

Harry turned the page and continued to appease the strange lady behind him.

"Strange, I don't remember opening a window…" Mrs. Figg seemed to take pause in her favorite past time. Harry raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur.

"Huh?" he asked brilliantly.

"I don't feel any wind either," she continued. Harry decided to write this off as Mrs. Figg being her weird self and turned the page again. Maybe she wouldn't notice that they skipped that particular section? He sure hoped so.

"There it is again!" The woman pointed to the book. Harry furrowed his brows.

"What are you talking about?"

"The breeze is turnin' the pages dear, but I can't seem to feel it," what on earth was she….oooohhh…oops.

"It's probably just a slight wind you can't feel," Harry grinned nervously. Hopefully she'd buy his B.S. and forget about his little lazy magic display.

Mrs. Figg stared at him for a moment with an expression that seemed completely alien on the usually absent-minded woman's face. A mask that Harry hadn't even been aware of appeared to dissolve and left behind a much fiercer person than who had been previously standing in the room with the hybrid.

Harry opened his mouth to ask if the woman before him was all right, but Mrs. Figg seemed to come back to herself and cut Harry off.

"You're probably right," Arabella sighed. Harry wanted to sigh too, but more from relief than his baby sitter's resignation. The next question was a little weird though.

"Do you experience wind like that at home?" Instead of wondering the possible reasoning behind this question Harry simply snorted.

"Privet Drive isn't my Home Mrs. Figg," Harry stated bitterly. He could tell Mrs. Figg these things. For some reason she never did anything about his lot in life no matter what she saw the Dursleys do to him. It was kind of depressing.

The woman had the audacity to look shocked at his opinion.

"Well of course that's your home deary. That's where your family is," she explained it to him like he was a lost child. Harry just narrowed his eyes. That hit a sore note, which he lashed out at almost violently.

"They're only related to me by blood, but they are no family. A real family doesn't treat you like a slave, real family doesn't lock you in the cupboard, a real family wouldn't pretend you didn't exist when it was convenient, and a real family would take you along with them on family outings," Harry was standing now so he could look Mrs. Figg in the eye. The woman in question was even more stunned than before and maybe a bit … afraid? Why?

"But it has to-" the bewildered cat monger had tried to say, but Harry didn't let her get any traction.

"No, that place could never be my home. Home's where the heart is," Harry couldn't remember where he heard that from but the Dursleys were the ones who made him truly understand the adage, "and let me tell you, my heart could never survive at Number 4 Privet Drive. That isn't home.

"I did have a home once, with a mom and a dad, but some lunatic came and destroyed it," car crash Harry's ass! Harry didn't think Mrs. Figg's eyes could get much wider, but she proved him wrong. Were those tears? "Now I'm just an unwelcome guest; a fact that the people you call my _family_ lord over me at every opportunity! That place is not _home _Mrs. Figg! Please don't try to tell me that it is!"

Mrs. Figg threw herself forward and pulled Harry into a tight hug.

"You're right Harry," Harry was confused now. He didn't expect the woman to actually listen. He had told the woman the Dursley's hated him before. What was different this time?

The confusing woman pulled herself back from the embrace and stared at Harry and the half ghost felt like he was staring at the woman he had gotten a short glimpse of before.

"Why don't you go play with Snowy in the other room? I'm sure she'd love out of her crate," the scarred boy was once again caught off guard. Harry was never actually allowed to play with the cats, just look at pictures of them. Something strange was going on, but he would go along with it for now. Mrs. Figg didn't have a phone in her house, so he doubted she was about to call child services, "I'll be with you in a minute."

Harry didn't bother to hide the wary glance over his shoulder as he left the room. It would be suspicious if he didn't find this suspicious. Mrs. Figg just smiled and waved him away.

As soon as Harry had left the room Arabella turned and made her way toward the desk in the space. At the moment it was covered in cat albums that she had made to keep Harry busy while he was here. She honestly felt very guilty for subjecting her darling pets to so many camera flashes, but it was for the greater good of the Wizarding world so everyone would have to suffer; or so she had thought.

Arabella Figg may have been a squib, but she was familiar with magic and could understand it in theory. When Dumbledore had entrusted her with the duty of watching over the boy-who-lived he had seen fit to include an explanation of the blood-wards that protected him. They were a complicated bit of magic, but powerful when activated and the kneasel breeder could believe that Harry was truly better off with his awful relatives if they truly did what Dumbledore said they would.

That however, did not mean that they were infallible. There were two conditions that required the wards to work, three if you counted the age limit. One was that Petunia had to take Harry in willingly in the first place. She did not have to love him or even care for him, she just had to harbor him and allow him to stay there willingly and without coercion. The second was that the wards would only work for as long as the boy could consider the place home.

Harry had just told her that under no certain terms had Number 4 Privet Drive ever been home to him. She could have written it off as a child being resentful, but she knew what the Dursleys were like. His sheer conviction was a bit unnerving as well. A ten-year old shouldn't be that sure about anything except what he wants for Christmas that year.

When he had mentioned James and Lily she had almost fallen out of her chair! She knew the Dursleys hadn't told them about James and Lily's deaths. They had tried to pass it off as a drunken car accident. If Harry knew better he would have had to have some memory of them, which would have meant… that poor boy!

Mrs. Figg practically slapped the albums off her desk and grabbed a quill and parchment. Dumbledore needed to know about this development immediately.

* * *

Dumbledore was practically dragging his feet up the stairs that evening as the gargoyle that guarded his office slid away and allowed the man a passage to his own office. It had been a busy week at the ministry and Dumbledore was looking forward to finally staying home at the castle for the weekend. He was excited to lay his eyes upon his favorite chair and had anyone else been in that office, they probably would have described the most powerful wizard of his age almost skipping to his desk. As it was the only ones to witness the eccentric old man were a hat with no eyes and a loyal phoenix that couldn't talk.

It had been a truly awful couple of days. Fudge had called him away in desperate need of some advice on what to do about a highly controversial bill for muggle-born rights. It truly saddened the older man when truly basic rights like the ability to press criminal charges and pursue justice to the same extent as a pureblood wizard and against said pureblood wizards was in question. This kind of this should have been common sense, but the harshly ingrained prejudices of the society he grew up in had once overshadowed any form of logical thinking.

He told the obtuse man to pass the bill of course. He 'reasoned' that at least eighty percent of the voting population was muggle-born and it would look absolutely awful for him to betray them like that. It was truly exasperating to explain to him that, yes, not passing such a bill would seem like a betrayal on his part, but the thick man eventually got it. He would pass the bill if only to appease the voters and not out of any sense of moral responsibility. Dumbledore would take the small victory for wizard decency where he could though.

Or at least he would have if a certain Lucius Malfoy had not come sweeping into the room just as Fudge was about to give his signature to the darn thing. The man made a long-winded speech about how it was such a shame that the mud-bloods had won over the minister's loyalty and the Pureblooded minority would now have to suffer. Before the pompous man left he made a sly comment about not the possibility of Fudge being a blood traitor and then it all went to hell.

The older wizard was forced to make a theatrical stand on the cowardly man's behalf. He berated the Malfoy Patriarch in a manner fitting of a headmaster that the way he spoke to Fudge was a manner completely disrespectful of one addressing their Minister and their superior. He had put special emphasis on the last one, which Fudge finally seemed to realize and started acting his position for once. Malfoy had realized that Fudge's backbone would remain as long as Dumbledore was around so he apologized in a way that was most certainly not sincere and changed tactics.

The Malfoy head had demanded to stay and make sure that 'Purebloods were represented' when the bill was passed. The ensuing couple of days could only be described then as Dumbledore and Lucius 'debating' and or trying to get Cornelius alone so they could influence him privately via faulty scheduling snafu's, taking the minister out to a private lunch, crashing on said lunch, and 'mysterious' paperwork assaults.

Dumbledore eventually came out on top when a messenger came on behalf of the Board of Directors demanding for Lucius on some matter or other. The Malfoy glared at the elder Wizard who simply smiled benignly with that crazy twinkle in his eyes. It was no fault of his that Deputy Headmistress Minerva had decided to give a report of the school's status a bit ahead of time. It wasn't out of character for her either. He may have let it slip to the woman that Lucius was getting in the way of common decency again but that was neither here or there.

All that really mattered was that Fudge had seen things his way in the end and the good muggle-born citizens of England could now sue the pants off of their pureblooded counterparts equally. Everybody wins.

It was times like this when Dumbledore questioned why anyone thought he would actually wanted to be minister. Dealing with situations like that was exhausting and there was no one that he could actually trust within a stone's throw of that office. If he had the option he would have given up his position as Head Warlock and Chief Mugwump too, but he had been proven time and time again that there was absolutely no one he could trust to hand the title off to. They were all as corrupt as Malfoy, as incapable as Fudge, and those that he could imagine doing it wanted nothing to do with politics.

But he wasn't at the Ministry anymore, so he would banish those thoughts from his mind. Now Albus could settle his old bones in his seat and finally focus his attention on the most beloved of all his responsibilities: Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Or at least he would have if an owl didn't come and crash on his desk. Odd.

Dumbledore was fazed by very little though so he merely clapped his hands to summon a house elf.

A soft pop echoed in the colorful office and a scrawny house elf with nearly elven ears appeared in a clean tea cozy. Dumbledore had given orders for the elves to bathe and groom themselves regularly as he noticed that they tended to ignore their basic needs otherwise. They might have thought it was devotion to ignore their essentials like that, but it was not healthy to have a filthy house elf making schoolchildren food. That was a nightmare waiting to happen, honestly.

"Pointy, could you get some bacon for this poor creature?" The headmaster requested.

Pointy gave a rigid salute and called, "Yessir!" and with another pop, he was gone. Less than three minutes later the tiny creature was back and holding a plate with strips of bacon on it. He presented the food to the older man who patted the elf on the head and took a strip to give to the owl.

It took a few waves for the smell to bring the poor creature around and when it opened its eyes it greedily snapped its beak at the offered food. Dumbledore smiled a bit and waited for the exhausted creature to finish eating. Once the messenger was done the wizard carefully removed the letter from the owl's talons and allowed the poor bird to rest a bit more on his desk. It wasn't doing his paperwork to much harm and he was sure the rest of the staff would understand if he lost a bit of it due to a poor overworked messenger right? Of course they would!

Dumbledore read the return address and was surprised to realize that the owl was from Arabella Figg.

The woman hardly ever wrote the Headmaster and in his mind that was a shame. He would have loved to hear about Harry's childhood every once in a while, since he regretfully could not participate in it himself. Arabella was also a very bright woman that he wouldn't have minded having as a pen pal either, but alas. It seemed like the kneazle breeder believed that she had everything under control. At least she _did_.

Dumbledore let out a long sigh and opened the letter. He adjusted his half-moon glasses and started reading the squibs note. He noticed that the writing was rushed and panicked before his mind actually registered the meaning of any words and his brow creased in worry.

As his eyes moved form line to line his expression had decayed from a mildly worried one to a completely paled out visage. By the time the old wizard had finished reading the parchment, he was tempted to call Severus for an emergency Draught of Peace that he KNEW the man kept for OWLs week, but no. He needed to be fully alert for this.

It appeared that he had truly underestimated just how much Petunia resented her sister and the world she lived in and just how far Vernon would stoop to stay what he considered to be 'normal'. It took all of the dignity that the old wizard had accumulated over his century of life to restrain himself from slamming his head against the desk. _Of course _the Dursleys just had to be the _one_ family capable of making an environment horrible enough to breed enough resentment, hatred and misery to the point that it wouldn't be a surprise if the savior of the Wizarding World became the next dark lord himself.

If Arabella was correct in her deductions, then Number 4 Privet Drive was no longer safe for Harry Potter; or any magical child for that matter

Dumbledore turned to the portrait of Armando Dippet, the headmaster before him.

"Excuse me, Armando? Do you think you get a word to Minerva that I would like to see her in my office," The late headmaster's portrait nodded regally and left to pass the message along.

* * *

Minerva MgGonagall was unsure of what Dumbledore had called her for. Headmaster Dippet did not say, but he did say it was important so she didn't waste any time finishing the report she was grading and swept out of her office and into the halls of Hogwarts.

It was the last week of classes and students had been winding down from their studies and exams. The teachers had decided to give the students a bit of leeway when it came to the rules concerning the use of magic in the corridors. After all the children had been reasonably well-behaved this year and most could be trusted with the privilege. There were only a few problem students like George and Fred Weasley who the staff really needed to keep an eye on.

The austere woman almost rolled her eyes. If those two had simply spent their time studying instead of pranking everyone they came across, they would have probably had the highest marks at Hogwarts. As it was, well Mrs. Weasley would probably have a word or two with them that summer regarding their final grades.

The female animagus arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding her boss's office, rattled off the latest candy password and walked inside. She was greeted with an uncharacteristically serious looking Albus Dumbledore. She nervously noticed that the nearly constant twinkle in his eye was absent that evening and she began to feel a sense of foreboding.

"What's wrong Albus?" Minerva asked, straight to the point.

Albus sighed deeply and made a gesture for the deputy headmistress to have a seat in one of the chairs opposite the man's desk.

"I'm afraid I will not be able to spend the weekend at home like I had planned Minerva,"

The witch's mouth pressed into a thin line, "Did Lucius manage to overturn that bill you and Fudge were working on?" The man in front of her laughed humorlessly.

"Nothing so simple I'm afraid," he answered, "If it were only that easy, I could have waited until tomorrow, but if what I have heard is correct, then it must be tonight."

"What is it Albus?" the transfiguration mistress demanded, "What could be so urgent that you would allow me the possibility to announce the winner of the house cup in your place?" The elder wizard winced. Well, Minerva mused, if he could still feel sore about that, then it wasn't like Voldemort had risen or anything. However the fact that he would allow _anyone_ aside from himself to announce the House Cup in the first place was terribly distressing.

"I'm afraid the blood-wards at the Dursley residence may have fallen," Dumbledore replied gravely, "It seems that Lily's sister may have made it impossible for Harry to ever consider that house as a home."

The hair at the back of the woman's neck rose, "I told you!" she cried, "I told you those people would have no idea how to take care of a magical child! Lily always moaned about how much her sister hated her for being a witch and now poor Harry's been forced to bear the brunt of it!"

"You were absolutely right Minerva. I'm sorry for ignoring your warnings. The blood-wards were simply-"

"Useless if I heard you correctly," the younger professor snapped, "Who knows how long the wards have been nullified at any rate! Harry could have been vulnerable for years and we would have never known!"

"Now we don't know if the wards have fallen yet," Dumbledore reminded her, "the only clue that we have been given of such an occurrence is a panicked letter from a Mrs. Arabella Figg explaining young Harry's absolute refusal to call Number 4 Privet drive home. I still have to check if the wards are, in fact gone myself, as young Arabella does not have the skill to check herself."

"I wouldn't be surprised in the least if her suspicions turn out to be true. Mrs. Figg. May not have any magic herself, but she had the keenest instinct," Dumbledore refrained from suggesting that she was merely partial to young Arabella because she turned into a cat herself.

"Even so what would you do if the wards had fallen Albus? You surely wouldn't let him stay with that horrid woman and her family if the only reason we left him there in the first place was gone right?"

"Certainly not," the headmaster assured his friend, "However I do seem to be at a loss as to where we could safely keep him…"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Minerva stated, "For now, you had best check up on the boy. Every moment you sit and chat with me is another the poor child is vulnerable," The witch's eyes resembled a cold steel now and Dumbledore understood he had wasted enough time.

"Quite right. Fawkes!" The elder wizard called to his phoenix familiar that soared to his partner and both disappeared from the office in a bright flare that left MgGonagall blinded for a moment.

"…He could at least warn people when he does that…"

* * *

Dumbledore arrived safely inside Arabella Figg's house a moment later, successfully scaring the living daylights out of two of her beloved cats. The lady of the house came down the stairs not a moment later wielding a tire iron and waving it around like judgment day had come.

"I'll have you know that _this_ old lady won't go down easy! No sir! I'll take all you hoola- Professor Dumbledore!" the impromptu weapon was dropped and left forgotten on the floor.

An unflustered Dumbledore waved off the attempted assault via blunt instrument, "Ah yes. Please forgive me for not sending a warning Mrs. Figg, but the contents of your message were most disturbing and I felt that I couldn't wait another minute. I would have apparated outside your house, but I was afraid I would have attracted a bit too much attention to myself. I'll leave right now if you wish and ask to come in properly, so you can decide what you want to do with me from there."

The kneazle breeder rolled her eyes heavenward, "Good lord sir, you almost gave me a heart attack. And please stay inside; I believe that'd simply be a waste of both of our time."

"There's always time for good manners," the wizard said.

"Well then sir, if you could tell the Dursleys that very thing, that would be very nice and I'm sure Harry would appreciate it." The mood turned grim again.

"I suppose you're right," the Chief Warlock agreed, "I best get to it then, do you mind if I come back here when I'm done? It really is the safest place to apparate in the area."

"Of course Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, "Thank you," and with that he left the house.

* * *

It took a bit of walking to get from Mrs. Figg's home to the Dursley residence, but Dumbledore had always liked to look on the bright side and decided that it was merely good exercise for a man his age anyway. It wouldn't do for him to waste away at his desk now would it?

Dumbledore almost walked by the house by accident due to just how similar all the buildings on Privet Drive looked to each other. The only real indication of difference was the numbers on the mailbox. The old man shuddered. Perhaps he should take Harry regardless of whether the blood-wards worked or not?

No, Lily had given her life for those wards and there was nothing stronger than the power of love.

Cancel that, Dursley hate was evidently the most potent power in the universe now.

Dumbledore had sent a small reducto curse at the mailbox of the property and the mail receptacle had just blown up into tiny pieces. If he hadn't placed a silencing charm over the area around him, that might have brought some undo attention, but that wasn't as problematic as the mailbox being affected by his curse in the first place.

Had the blood-wards still been in place, no _harmful_ magic would have been able to affect anything on the property, including the poor, poor ex-mailbox. The wards would have simply absorbed the harmful spell and released it upward into the sky to dissipate harmlessly into the atmosphere. Or hit a bird, whichever came first really; the wards had to protect the house and occupants anything else was free game.

But now it was clear that the blood-wards were gone and so was any lasting protection Harry had while at this location. The worst part was that Dumbledore had no idea how long the boy had been so _vulnerable_.

As it was Dumbledore was now left with the problem of Harry's continued safety, two problems if he were to count the late mailbox.

'Never mind, three problems' the powerful wizard amended.

There, standing on the very porch the man had left him on so many years ago, was Harry James Potter himself and he looked positively livid. He pointed an accusing finger at the man in front him and the wind started whipping at the boy's hair.

"_You…"_

* * *

**Harry is angry, I wonder if he was attached to that mailbox...**

**God, I'm tempted to write a side story about the antics of Lucius and Dumbledore fighting over a clueless Fudge.**

*****So… I'm feeling a bit devilish. The truth is that I already have the next chapter of this written up, but I won't be releasing it until wednesday to keep myself on a dependable schedule…**

**BUT I noticed how much of a cliffhanger this is so if you guy can give me 20 reviews before then, I will post the next chapter. Not just 'update please!' reviews. Use your noodle and tell me what you think. **


	7. We Meet Again

**It appears that my chapter hostage plan has worked! You were compelled to give me feedback to answer for your precious cliffhanger MWAHAHA!**

**You guys are great, even**** if I was kind of blackmailing you, you guys were good sports. I won't hold the next chapter for ransom though, don't worry. It will be out around wednesday.**

**Since I demanded the reviews this time ****it really seems fair that I answer all of them, even the anonymous no account ones, which means I'll have to write those out here. Sorry for what this does to the word count. It was 7,796 before this note though and the end note as well, so that's still a lot of words!**

**Guest: I'm glad that you like the premise of this story, and you're right. There needs to be more Danny-Harry reincarnation action. It doesn't even matter which way.**

**Random Person:**** I'm so happy you love my work! You are also one of the few people who have not asked me to punch Albus, which I'm sure he would thank you for. **

**Reflection: Yay I made someone laugh! It's nice to know when my jokes don't fall flat it really is.**

**Bookaholic102198:good question! if you notice in the previous chapters, Darry is totally aware of his magic, but the Dursleys are always on the lookout for that kind of stuff so Harry can't really openly develop his talents. The last chapter explains that he has experimented a bit anyway, with differing results so he is mildly proficient at the little things. At Mrs. Figg's house he wasn't really aware that he was doing it himself, he was just SO bored that he was an autopilot. Hope that cleared it up for you!**

**On with the show!**

* * *

Harry didn't really know what to expect when he left Mrs. Figg's house that evening. The woman seemed to pull a complete one-eighty that didn't make any real sense. The lady was still absolutely crazy about her cats, but the albums were gone and Harry was actually allowed to see the creatures in person. The absent-minded personality, which the boy had recently learned to be a façade was gone, at least, in his presence and was replaced with something much more fierce and determined, but Harry hadn't the slightest clue what for. She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him as well. She asked about his likes, dislikes, his hobbies and his dreams for the future. He was a bit wary about answering, but did so as honestly as he could anyway.

He told her that he what he liked to do as his human half. He liked to read; he also loved astronomy, engineering, and chemistry. He didn't like bullies or people who abused the privileges they had to hurt others. Harry honestly didn't have any dreams for the future at the moment except finding out what really happened to his parents, but he really wasn't going to tell the cat breeder that. He may have shouted that bit about his mum and dad before, but he doubted she knew the whole story.

Or at least that was what he thought. Harry honestly didn't know what to think after he saw a messenger owl fly away from the woman's home from one of the windows while he was playing with the cats in the other room like she had told him to.

The ghost boy's first instinct had been to chase after that owl and not let it out of his sight. Only people from the magical community used owls to carry mail like that one. On the other hand, he had absolutely no idea where that owl was going and apparently magical types could live in places as normal as Privet Drive if Mrs. Figg was anything to go by.

Except that Mrs. Figg was not magical. Harry's third eye would have picked up on that if she were. Her cats were, but not the woman herself, which confused the hybrid a bit. Harry had just thought that Mrs. Figg was just unaware of her cat's supernatural origin, but now there seemed to be evidence to the contrary.

So it seemed that Arabella Figg was in contact with someone who was magical or perhaps she was a part of the wizarding world herself. The news was startling, but maybe he could use it to his advantage. He really wasn't getting anywhere with his Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon when it came to getting them to drop hints. They were so far in denial that even Disney seemed to offend them.

But if he could get the information he wanted from Mrs. Figg instead, he wouldn't need to stick around with the rotten family anymore. She seemed more sympathetic to him now than before, maybe she would be willing to tell him something to comfort him? He would save it for next time, because this time she seemed determined to get to know him better, which he would allow to a point. He really hoped she didn't expect to suddenly become best friends though. She had ignored his suffering for years; that was not something Harry could easily forget.

* * *

When He was picked up by the Dursleys, Harry made sure to act as miserable as possible because evidently Mrs. Figg believed that if the Dursleys thought Harry had a good time at her house then they wouldn't allow her to babysit for them anymore. And while that would be completely backwards logic for any other family, it fit the Dursleys to a T. Harry was reluctantly forced to admit the woman was a bit of a mad genius, but honestly told her that she could have told him earlier. She defended herself reasonably by stating that young children can't really be trusted with those kinds of secrets and that he would have let the act slip eventually by accident.

Harry reluctantly agreed inwardly. A normal child that young would never be able to hold up a charade for so long without slipping up. Harry still made small mistakes here and there thanks to the child mentality of his brain not matching his soul sometimes. However to keep up the charade of not being a reincarnated ghost, Harry immaturely said he would have totally been able to keep a secret. Mrs. Figg just smiled indulgently then and said 'of course you would' like every other adult in the universe, magical or not.

When Harry got back to the house he made his way to the kitchen to make dinner before Vernon had gruffly informed him that the family ate at the park. Harry asked if he could make himself something and Petunia had sneered and told him that as long as it was nothing fancy then he could make it himself. The half-ghost had to stop himself from snorting, who else would make it for him?

The skinny boy made himself a chicken salad and chowed down. Unfortunately he was then yelled at by Vernon because evidently salads are 'fancy' and got himself thrown in his cupboard for the night before he could finish the darn thing. Honestly, if they're so worried about him wasting food, then they should at least let him finish what he started so they wouldn't have to throw out the left overs. Heavens knew that no one else in the family would eat a salad.

Harry promptly just turned off his closet light and welcomed sleep.

* * *

It was Harry's third eye that woke him up that night. Someone or something had just entered his range that was distinctly unusual for what normally resided on Privet Drive. This presence was distinctly supernatural and it was coming closer.

Harry phased out of his cupboard and out into the hall. He turned invisible and stalked to one of the ugly yellow curtains that covered the windows in front of the Dursley house. He looked outside and lo-and-behold was a very familiar man blowing up his relative's mailbox. And he was just as oddly dressed as the last time Harry encountered him. His wore what seemed to be dark indigo robe that bore silver suns and stars and moons. His hat was somewhat pointy and tall.

Harry silently phased through his front door and turned visible. It took the old man a moment to realize that he was there, but when he did he was surprised to see just how angry Harry had looked then. The boy extended his arm and pointed his index finger accusingly in the other's direction. His magic may have affected the air around him, because he felt his hair whipping around him, but that wasn't important right now.

"_You…!_" the Merlin look a like seemed surprised at the sheer venom in the ten-year-old's voice.

Harry stomped up to the old man and looked him straight in the eye, "You. Left. Me. On. A. Porch!"

And with that Harry jumped up and punched the bearded man straight in the jaw.

BAM!

The old man stumbled back a few feet before he managed to regain his former poise.

"I'm afraid I probably deserved that," the oddly dressed man admitted.

Harry wasn't appeased, "Who are you and why did you attack that mailbox?"

"Ah, yes that," the older man idly moved his gaze to where the aforementioned object once stood, "I can fix that, it would be no trouble at all."

"I want to know why you had no trouble blowing it up in the first place," the scarred boy crossed his hands over his chest. Really abandoning babies in the night and destroying property was not normal behavior.

He felt a slight pressure against himself then, or more specifically in his mind. It didn't feel like an assault, but more like a curious probing. Either way, it felt invasive and he wanted it out, so he gave the feeling a rough push and slammed up his mental walls. It bothered Harry that beings in this world could invade the mind as well, but he would be prepared. He had been building up his mental defenses since Freakshow had tried to control him in his freshman year.

By the way his eyes widened, it looked like the old man in front of him was responsible for the attempted mental breach.

"You don't seem to think very much of other people's privacy either," Harry stated.

"Do forgive me," the white haired man asked, "I get a bit too curious for my own good, and the way you ejected me from your mind has left me even more interested I must admit," The man confessed.

"It doesn't excuse you from violating someone like that," Harry didn't let up.

The man in the robe seemed to almost wince at the word violate and went quiet for a moment. A bit later he let out a sigh.

"No, I suppose you're right. That was an inexcusable abuse of power. Please forgive me Harry, you did nothing to deserve that."

Harry nodded a bit slowly. He was still wary.

"You never said what your name was."

The elder wizard seemed to straighten, "Quite right, do forgive me. My name is Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. You may simply call me Professor Dumbledore.

It was Harry's turn for his eyes to widen. Not from the ridiculous amount of names (but he would admit that it was impressive), but the last name itself.

"You're Dumbledore?" he asked slowly.

The Professor seemed taken aback, "Yes, you seemed to have heard of-"

WHAM!

This punch in particular was aimed at the left eye.

"You're the one who ordered Hagrid to bring me to this godforsaken house in the first place!"

Dumbledore wordlessly fixed the glasses that Harry had broken and stared at the child in a seemingly new light, "How would you know that?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, which he had to consciously keep from glowing now, "I'm the one asking questions here! You abandon me at this house for ten years and then show up just to blow up my relative's mailbox and invade my mind? I don't think so! Why are you really here? And don't you _dare _lie to me!" Harry was panting by now.

"I told you that I could fix the box very easily," the Professor seemed compelled to remind him.

"And I told you, that you shouldn't have done it in the first place," Harry retorted hotly.

Professor Dumbledore made an effort to stand up from where he had fallen. Harry helped him up, which seemed to surprise the wizard. Harry just shrugged it off. Dumbledore stared at the boy before him a bit unsurely, but pressed on.

"I can promise you that I only destroyed a piece of the Dursleys' private property for a very specific reason," Dumbledore assured the cross child, "You see it also has to do with the reason that Hagrid, MgGonagall and I left you to spend the first decade of your life with the Dursley family."

Harry blinked.

Well, he wasn't expecting that at all.

"What does your magical vandalism have to do with the first ten years of my life?" the ghost hybrid asked reasonably. He was still pretty pissed, but he would let the man say his piece.

"Ah, but you see I wasn't suppose to be able to vandalize your property at all."

"It's not my property," Harry grumbled. The wizard gave the boy a sorrowful glance, but continued.

"You see when we first dropped you off at this residence, there was something of a safeguard in place to keep you and all other occupants of the house safe from harmful magic or persons with ill intent against the people living there," Dumbledore explained.

In his mind, Harry quickly concluded from experience that if someone had ill intentions against another member of the household though, then the protection would be useless. That is, if the protection this man was talking about worked at all. He stayed silent though, and listened to the wizard in front of him.

"There were only two conditions to keep these safeguards in place. Petunia had to willingly take you, as it was her blood connection to Lily, your mother, that kept the safeguard powered," Dumbledore went on, "this is why the protection was called a blood-ward. The second condition was that the person being protected would need to consider the place as a home," the elder wizard stopped and let the words sink in.

A horrible understanding dawned on Harry. Due to some obscure blood magic that he didn't completely understand, but got the basic gist of, Petunia was able to protect him in some way. She probably didn't do it actively, lord knows the woman would never touch something as freakish-sounding as blood magic. So Harry stayed with the Dursleys all these years so he would be safe…

God that was ironic.

And he had screwed it all up, by rejecting Number 4 Privet Drive as his home, huh? Well that seemed to go about the way things usually did for him. He wondered how long it had been since he totally screwed over his own protection. He may not have needed it, but the Dursleys were supposed to have been protected by the ward too. They may have been horrible people, but Harry would never wish death on anyone; life in prison maybe or an ecto-blast to the face sure, but not death. Then again, the Dursleys did everything in their power to make Harry feel as unwelcome at their house as possible, so there was no way that this was his fault. And by way the Professor had explained it his aunt Petunia knew about this, so she should have known the consequences of constantly telling him that he was unwanted and unloved. In fact, for once, he could say that this _actually wasn't_ his fault!

He really hoped Professor Dumbledore didn't expect him to be sorry or give an apology because that was NOT happening.

Oh well, on to more pressing matters.

"What was I being protected from Professor?" the boy inquired. He distinctly remembered the last person who tried to kill him getting offed for his troubles.

Professor Dumbledore was cryptic and frank at the same time, "Do you know how your parents died Harry?"

Harry decided to be vague. He already revealed that his memory was insanely good; why not make it a little believable?

"I remember screaming and a green light," Harry revealed, "There was this… tall shadow…thing standing over my crib; It was _really_ ugly and another green light and then it got really bright and then I think the house was destroyed 'cuz everything kinda got shaky then, but at least that shadow was gone… I think?"

"Your memory's very impressive," Dumbledore, praised the boy in front of him, "I would advise you to hold onto that particular memory. I know it may not be pleasant, but I strongly believe it will be highly useful in the future. Anyway, although I was not there myself, I can probably give a rough explanation of what happened, as I was one of the first to arrive at the scene afterward. Not _the_ first mind you, but somewhere in that number. I'm sorry to say that the screaming was probably your mother. She gave her life to save yours," Dumbledore put a hand on Harry's shoulder and the boy let him. The two spent a moment in mournful silence, the boy's animosity had briefly flickered out, "The shadow you saw was her killer, a man called Lord Voldemort, and that green light was the spell he used to do it.

"However something unbelievable happened that night Harry," The wizard smiled warmly at Harry for some odd reason, "When Voldemort turned to finish you off he could not. Instead his own curse bounced back on itself and Voldemort was seemingly destroyed that night. You Harry, did what no other wizard could; you lived and you defeated Lord Voldemort. You became a hero to the entire wizarding world!"

Harry felt like he had just swallowed a lemon. This was suppose to be his fresh start and now some butt-munch who went around trying to kill babies had just cheated him out of it! The boy-who-lived wanted to scream!

And now he was famous just for making it to his second birthday? Lame.

"Unfortunately Voldemort did not work alone," the elder man sighed and for just a single moment he looked so _tired _and Harry could _understand_ that, "He had many followers and people who believed in his cause. Once they had heard that their master had been defeated, there were some that would have stopped at nothing to avenge their fallen master. Your mother had arranged the blood-wards with me as a last resort before she and your father went into hiding. At first we were only going to leave you with the Dursley family until all of Voldemort's followers had been rounded up and it would have been safe enough for your godfather to take you."

Harry perked up exponentially at the mention of Sirius.

"Unfortunately it became known to us that your godfather had not only betrayed the location of your family to Voldemort, but he was also responsible for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve innocent muggles."

Harry's jaw dropped. That was impossible. There was no way that padfoot would do any of that stuff. Hell, he saw the guy kicking Voldemort's body and laughing. That was _so_ not minion behavior. Something stunk of a set up and he was onto it.

Dumbledore seemed to get a different impression though, "You don't need to worry; Sirius Black is serving a lifetime sentence in Azkaban for his crimes. It is a shame though, he was such a promising young man," the elder man's face grew somber.

"I'll bet he was," Harry muttered bitterly.

The old Professor seemed to gather himself again, "In any case, due to the unfortunate circumstances, there was no one else to take care of you, save for the Dursleys. I hope that one day you can forgive me. I have been made aware of their treatment of you and I want you to know that was never my intention for you. That wasn't what your mother wanted for you. In my arrogance Harry, I've failed you horribly and for that I'm sorry."

The old man was on his knees now, so he would be eye-to-eye with Harry. He had both hands on the boy's shoulders and held tight, not as tightly as Vernon did, but tight.

Harry was no mind reader, but he had noticed that ever since he had reincarnated that, along with his strong spiritual connection to animals, he had gained a small amount of ability to sense human emotions too. Right now this gift was telling him that the man in front of him was being sincere to the fullest degree. It was like there were no secrets in his heart at the moment, which was totally the opposite impression he got when he had first encountered the professor that night.

The man's body language didn't give off any deception either. There were no nervous ticks or tells that people did when trying divert attention. His face was fixed in a sad and tired countenance that made Harry realize just how old this man really was. He kept eye contact and Harry didn't feel any probing pressure anywhere in his psyche.

"Did you know how they would treat me?" Harry asked earnestly.

Dumbledore looked guiltily at the ground for a moment before re-establishing eye contact with the abused boy in front of him.

"I must admit that I was aware of Petunia's resentment of her sister, but I firmly believed that she would be mature enough to look past that and treat you like the treasured family that you are," Harry sighed at the man's naïve answer, and felt his anger slip even further away.

Honestly Harry would have done the same thing. He always believed in the good in people and liked to give them the benefit of the doubt. It had also come back to bite him in the butt almost, if not more, than it did him any good. He would never stop doing it though; because Harry just knew that everyone had good in them somewhere and no one could be truly irrevocably evil. Sometimes it wasn't so black and white, so Harry would try to understand.

_Maybe that's all anyone needs, a second chance._

Dumbledore had screwed up big time, but he came to apologize. He had even let Harry punch him twice and hadn't even countered with the clearly magical advantage he possessed over Harry. He really didn't want to end up like that mailbox. True, he had probed his mind, but by the way Dumbledore acted this might have been _normal_ in wizard culture (Harry shuddered a bit). Ghost culture was messed up too, but Harry had hoped living wizards and witches would be a bit less eccentric, but no luck. Harry really couldn't keep his temper any longer anyway. He had kept his promise to his one-year old self to punch the man and that was good enough for him.

Plus it made him feel better on the inside.

"You were wrong obviously," Harry pointed out. The wizard in front of him wilted a bit, "but so is everyone once in a while. Yea, your mistake ended in child abuse, but that wasn't you who locked me in the cupboard. It wasn't you who chased me around and beat me with sticks. It wasn't you who constantly belittled my existence, and it wasn't you who made me feel unloved and unwanted. The Dursleys did that willingly and not on your suggestion. Yes, you did abandon me on that porch over there, but the reasons for my life being so miserable are asleep in that house in back of me," Harry offered the Professor a small smile.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I forgive you," the hybrid confessed.

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled in a way that Harry couldn't even begin to comprehend and he pulled the boy in a tight hug.

"I don't deserve this second chance, but thank you. You have no idea how relieved I am that you can still feel compassion and kindness after your trials," he let the boy go and stood to his full height again, "but now that leaves us with a pressing dilemma indeed…"

"Professor?"

"Well, now that the wards are gone there's no reason for you to _stay_ here now is there?" Harry almost choked at the question.

"…Are you going to leave me on someone else's porch?"

To Harry's horror the older man looked thoughtful, "I haven't decided yet," he answered honestly, then he smiled serenely, "but this time I'll be sure to give you a jacket for the cold instead of just a blanket. Come along Harry. We'll be staying at Mrs. Figg's house tonight and then get your things from the Dursleys tomorrow," Harry decided that the old man was joking about the porch and followed behind. He also wasn't surprised at all to hear that the woman was involved in this.

The two males were about to leave the premises when Dumbledore stopped suddenly.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, "We almost forgot the mailbox!"

"Wait!" Harry cried. Dumbledore looked to the child in askance, to which the boy just smirked and said, "leave it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled then and it made his smile look positively mischievous, "Right then, let's not stay any longer. I'm afraid these old eyes keep getting confused every time they try to tell one house from another."

Harry laughed.

* * *

Harry and Professor Dumbledore returned to the house on Wisteria Walk to a very apologetic Mrs. Figg; at least to Harry.

"I'm so sorry I never told you anything Harry," she told him, "I wasn't allowed to and I don't have any magic myself so-"

"About that," Harry interrupted her, "You guys keep talking about this magic stuff like I know what you're talking about. Can someone please fill me in on the details?" Harry pleaded.

Dumbledore looked surprised, "You seemed to understand how I destroyed your relatives property."

"Well I know that magic is real, obviously," Harry conceded, "I can remember a little bit about my parents like what I told you and average people tell stories about you guys. They play it off as fiction, but they get the basic stuff like the wand and robe stuff right, which is kind of how I recognized you."

"Very clever," the professor praised like the educator of minds he truly was, "A marvelous use of limited resources, if I do say so myself. Yes Harry magic is real and humans who are capable of utilizing this talent are referred to as witches and wizards."

"You said humans who use magic, what about others?" what would he be considered?

"Ah, yes humans are considered to be able to use the most powerful and diverse magic. Currently they are the only beings that use wands to do so," Dumbledore answered

"Who considers humans to be the most powerful? Everybody or just the humans?" Harry asked critically.

Dumbledore chuckled a bit, "The wizards of course. The victorious often get the final say," the old man answered cryptically, but Harry got the message loud and clear.

Arabella cut in, "Why don't we take this conversation somewhere more comfortable. The hallway really is no place to discuss the ins and outs of a new world. Don't you agree?"

The two males looked almost sheepishly at the woman and agreed. They followed her into a small beige dining room where they all sat close at the end of the stained walnut dining table closest to the kitchen entrance. Mrs. Figg had gone into the kitchen to make her guests tea despite the late hour.

"Are we at least friendly with these other beings?" The small boy ventured after settling in his seat.

The elder across from him stroked his impressive beard, "It would depend on whom you asked."

"If I were to ask a wizard?"

Dumbledore smiled a bit, "Once again, it would depend on the wizard."

Harry couldn't hold back the exasperated sigh, "well what if I asked you? What kind of relationship do we have with other supernatural beings?"

"It really depends on the being," Harry was about to punch the old man for a third time when Mrs. Figg came in with the tea.

"Here you go Professor, Harry," she gracefully served them two cups and gave them a sugar bowel if they needed to sweeten their beverage, "Hopefully this will calm the nerves after such an _interesting_ evening," she added, "I'll be in the other room, just call if you need me."

"You don't need to stay up on our account young Arabella. It's quite late already," Dumbledore was right. It was already an hour past midnight, "You've already offered us a place to stay for the night and we couldn't be more grateful."

"That may be so," the woman sniffed, "but it's rude to fall asleep when guests are still awake and I was raised better than that. Time is irrelevant when some manners are concerned Professor," it appeared that the cat breeder was done with the subject, as she then scooped up the tea tray and seemed to swiftly glide out of the room. Professor Dumbledore merely shrugged and smiled a bit.

"She's very stubborn, that Arabella. It was that kind of attitude that made her seem to be the perfect candidate to watch over you. Aside from her lack of magic of course."

Harry wished he could have known the woman who was just in the room a little better. Right now he had no real reference to back up or disprove Dumbledore's choice.

"So back to magic then…" Harry tried to backtrack a bit.

"Yes, magic was the world you were born into," Dumbledore stated, "You would have been re-introduced to it this summer, but it seems-"

"Wait a minute!" the half ghost interjected, "What do you mean re-introduced?"

"Hmm?" Dumbledore seemed thrown off for a second before he seemed to understand just what had happened; he looked like he had just seen a puppy get kicked, "I see. The Dursleys didn't tell you anything about your magical talent did they? You really did have to find out all on your own."

"Yes," Harry answered a bit uncomfortably, "I uhm, wasn't allowed to do it in front of them or they'd punish me for it."

The floor had suddenly become very interesting for the ghost boy.

Dumbledore's gaze turned stony and cold, "I see. Petunia has a lot to answer for."

Harry wasn't intimidated easily. In his first life he defeated the King of all Ghosts, met Pandora and faced her 'box', battled the patron spirit of Halloween and he wasn't sure how many times he had fought the dragon siblings for real or in sport. All of that was before he even finished puberty, by the way.

But the gaze of the man before him somehow managed to send a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with his latent ice powers. That look didn't demand fear, it inspired it. The difference coming from the person who was giving the stare's level certainty that they could make sure you regretted ever crossing them.

Harry was no longer sitting in front of the strange Professor he had met that night. He was sitting in the presence of a seasoned veteran and the difference was unnerving. Was this how Sam and Tucker felt when dealing with his two identities?

"…So what was that before I told you about my awful relatives?" Harry tried to divert the topic back to something else.

The old wizard's hardened face seemed to almost melt back into the kindly Professor attitude and the sparkle re-appeared in his eyes.

"I was saying that on your eleventh birthday, you would have received a letter from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry to tell you that you had been accepted."

"How does the letter know where to find students?" Harry wondered. It seemed like an almost impossible feat to keep track of every kid who suddenly developed magical powers in Great Britain.

Dumbledore had an answer for that too, "There is a list that magically keeps track of every magical child born in Great Britain," Wow, Harry thought. That must have been one powerful artifact. Not quite the infi-map, but still, wow… "The owls can find a potential student wherever they are, as they are spelled to do so."

Harry blinked once, twice, then three times.

"You mean I could have totally turned the Dursleys over to the authorities for their abuse and I still would have gotten a letter?" the hybrid seethed.

"Perhaps, but your foster home wouldn't have had any blood-,"

"You already said that those didn't work," Harry pointed out.

Unfortunately Dumbledore just had to go and make sense, "Maybe, but then you might have unwittingly brought attention unto yourself. If someone like Vernon and Petunia were to be charged with child abuse, it would most certainly be considered a big deal for such a boring neighborhood. It might have even attracted media attention," Harry had always hoped that it would. He would have loved to see his Uncle Vernon's face when he saw just how shattered his precious normal reputation had become and he would be able to blame no one, but himself.

"Such a leak in information could reach the ears of Voldemort's leftover followers and they could have easily deciphered your location from there. Any foster family you had would have also probably been in mortal danger," Dumbledore stated almost apologetically.

Danny couldn't deny the man's reasoning. For some god-awful reason Vernon and Petunia Dursley were considered model citizens and some people actually looked up to them, or maybe they just feared them? If it came out that they were child abusers, then that would have shocked the whole boring community and the starved Surrey press would have jumped on the opportunity like hungry sharks. Now that he realized he was hunted and considered helpless, he realized just how horribly that could have ended.

But that left one other nagging problem though.

"I can't even report them now? Can I?" Harry asked, defeated, "If I do then they would come after Mrs. Figg or even the Dursleys' themselves to figure out where I went and even if they don't know, it probably wouldn't matter to them would it?"

The Professor nodded gravely, "I'm afraid so. I am sorry Harry, but in order to assure your own continued safety, the Dursleys' will unfortunately be allowed to get away with their injustice."

Harry sighed, "I know… that doesn't mean I like it though."

"You will find that there will be many things in life that you don't like at all, part of being an adult is being able to tolerate those harsh realities," The Professor stated.

"Tell me about it," Harry had been tolerating harsh realities before he was even born. Literally.

The scarred boy sighed again. This topic needed to change

"So can you tell me about Hogwarts then?"

The bearded man practically beamed, "As a matter of fact I can. In fact, I happen to be the current Headmaster," he stated proudly. It was obvious that he seemed to love his job.

"Isn't the school year still going?" Harry asked, "the summer holidays don't start until next week for Little Whinging."

"This is true," the headmaster admitted, "right now the deputy headmistress is taking up my duty as we sort out our business here," the man looked outside with a longing expression, "Now she will have the honor of announcing the final feast."

"Uhm… I'm sorry?" the boy really didn't know how to respond to something like that.

"Don't be," the older wizard assured, "I can only blame myself. Now where was I? Oh, yes.

The Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry is the finest magic school in Wizarding Great Britain, although I am forced to admit that it is also the _only_ magic school in Great Britain as well, so there is not much competition for the title," Harry laughed a bit at the Headmaster's confession, "However, I still hold to the belief that Hogwarts would still stand above the rest if there had been any other institution to contest that title.

"The Hogwarts campus is a castle located in Scotland that stands a bit off from a Wizarding Village called Hogsmeade. It's primary use has always been the education of the younger generation, but when it was first built in the 9th or 10th century it served another purpose as a fortress for the citizens of Hogsmeade during the witch-hunts. Once the Statute of Secrecy of 1692 was put into place it was no longer needed as such, but as it stands, Hogwarts has more than enough room to board the entire staff, and student population comfortably with room to spare."

Harry nodded a bit dumbly. That was one impressive sounding boarding school campus.

"You will learn to hone your magical skills at Hogwarts and learn about our culture so you will be best suited to finding a successful career for yourself once you leave our humble halls. We teach subjects including, but not limited to transfiguration, potions, charms, flying," Harry absolutely beamed, "defense against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic and astronomy," Harry's grin got wider.

Dumbledore smiled back, happy that Harry was so eager to go to Hogwarts.

"But that won't be until the end of the summer. We need to decide where you're going to stay now," Dumbledore said, bringing things back to the present.

Harry tilted his head to the side, "Well why can't I stay at Hogwarts now? I mean I'm going to be staying there for the year anyway."

"As much as I would love to have you staying with me, I don't believe it would be a good idea. It really wouldn't do to show that kind of special treatment to one student after all." Dumbledore chuckled in good humor. Harry didn't give up though.

"Yea, but none of those other students have a target painted on their back like I do. You've been telling me that I've been in danger all night," the boy-who-lived pointed out, "You also just said that Hogwarts was a fortress in its heyday. I'm pretty sure that counts for something. Where else would you put me?"

Dumbledore thought about Harry's proposition and stroked his impressive beard.

"Hogwarts is considered to be one of the safest places in England…" Dumbledore admitted, "and the wards and defenses around it are far more formidable than the ones that would have protected you at the Dursleys. It might take some doing, but your idea may have merit Harry. It will have to be a secret of course, which will take some maneuvering, but I think we can manage it." Dumbledore nodded happily, "but we can think more about the details tomorrow when the sun is here to accompany us."

The old wizard waved his hand and empty teacups that the two had been drinking out of floated back to the kitchen and probably into the sink to wash themselves. Harry looked on and considered how useful magic must be for older people with arthritis.

"I'll go tell Mrs. Figg that we're finished in here," Harry said, taking the initiative.

"Good lad, I'll go prepare the guest room then," Dumbledore responded and slowly rose from his seat.

Harry walked into the woman's family room where he found Mrs. Figg snoring softly in an armchair, with what looked like notes in her lap.

Upon closer inspection, Harry was a bit startled to find that the notes were all about_ him_; about how he appeared each time Mrs. Figg had gotten the opportunity to see him. They chronicled how much it looked like he weighed, where he had bruises and what it looked like he had got them from, his emotional state, and other statistics that the boy thought would have flown over the cat breeder's head until yesterday afternoon.

"I should have seen it," a forlorn voice sighed next to him.

Harry just barely managed to stop himself from jumping ten feet in the air. He was really out of practice if something like that had caught him off guard. He looked from the notes to Mrs. Figg's face.

"I should have been able to tell how bad it had gotten," she elaborated bitterly.

The boy-who-lived-halfway regarded her words for a moment.

"Maybe," He admitted, "but, what good would it have done?"

"I could have protected you from those awful people!" she whispered fiercely.

"How? Why would they have listened to you?" Harry asked, "They didn't listen to the neighbors who told them that their son was a menace. They punished me for getting Dudley in trouble at school when I was the one being bullied. They punished me for getting better grades than their son and wouldn't stop no matter how much they tried. If you had gone and given them a piece of your mind they would have never let me see you again and you would have failed your job then," the ten-year old reasoned.

"I still failed," she stated miserably.

"How? You alerted Professor Dumbledore to a problem that he wouldn't even know had existed if it wasn't for you. You saw a flaw in what sounds like a really obscure magical security system. How is that failure?" The whole situation was an epic fail for everyone involved if Harry was being honest with himself, but he couldn't really fix blame on any one person, especially Arabella Figg. And _especially_ now that she appeared to be the only one who actually did something for him.

Mrs. Figg smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes, "Thank you Harry. That means a lot coming from you," He supposed that would have to do for now. He resolved to convince her that it wasn't her fault at some point in the future though, maybe through letters?

"So what did you need again dear?" The woman asked.

"Oh, right!" Harry backtracked, "I just came in to tell you that me and the Professor were going to bed and that you could too."

"How thoughtful of you," Mrs. Figg gave a genuine smile, "I'll never know how those relatives of yours ever managed to raise up someone like you when they haven't an ounce of real kindness between the lot of them."

Harry scratched the back of his neck, "Uhm, thanks I guess. Well I'll be heading upstairs if that's alright with you?"

"Go right on ahead deary. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has the room ready by now," She waved him off and Harry took the hint to leave. He walked up the staircase and into the upstairs hall.

It wasn't exactly narrow, but it wasn't a big hall either. It was just what Harry would have expected from the size of the house outside. There wasn't much room for furniture in the hallway so the only decorations on the muted light blue walls were pictures that, to Harry's surprise, were not of the woman's many cats. There were small portraits both painted and photographed of people that bore a resemblance to the woman of the house in some way and some not at all. He presumed those who didn't look like her to be pictures of her late husband and his family.

He walked over to what he assumed to be the guestroom door as he had checked the other two already and found them to lead to the master bedroom and the lavatory. This brought a question to Harry's mind though, how were both he and Dumbledore supposed to sleep comfortably in the guestroom?

By the size of the outside of the house and the dimensions that the Hall, bathroom and bedroom already take up, the guestroom would have to be no bigger that Dudley's second bedroom, which was really just a bit bigger than a walk in closet. Perhaps there was a sleeping bag?

Harry hoped they wouldn't be _sharing_ the bed. The ghost boy shuddered. He may have decided to try and forgive the man, but that _sooooo_ did not mean that he was up to cuddling.

Gathering up his shaken courage, Harry opened the door.

And proceeded to drop his jaw.

The room he entered flipped the bird at the laws of space and construction limitation. When logic dictated that a house could not hold a room of this size, Harry's eyes proved them wrong. This was no longer a room it was a chamber and Albus Dumbledore was sitting on one of two four poster, king sized beds, cool as a cucumber.

"It occurred to me," the headmaster broke the silence, "that the room we were given to stay in was a bit too small to fit the both of us comfortably. And while Mrs. Figg would have probably wanted one of us to use the futon in the linen closet, I couldn't in good conscience take the chance of you trying to sleep on the floor for me out of respect for your elders," Harry covered his eyes with his bangs a bit. That was something he totally would have done.

"So I thought I'd give you a taste of what magic is capable of in the hands of a Hogwarts Alumni," Dumbledore held out an arm to show off his handiwork.

Harry had to admit that he was impressed. He hadn't seen so much blatant disregard for the laws of natural space since the ghost zone. The room was pretty nice too.

There was a fireplace now, which was lit. The walls were covered by an ongoing, earth toned tapestry depicting, what the hybrid assumed, to be a tale about a young wizard facing down an evil knight. Strangely the knight won, but then it was revealed that the wizard was holding the knight's centaur friend prisoner. An interesting twist that Harry could admit he didn't see coming.

The beds looked to be framed by mahogany and when Harry jumped onto his, he realized it was softer than anything he had ever slept on since he had been reborn. That wasn't really saying much, but still.

He turned to the old man who had been watching him enjoy his new sheets, "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"You're welcome," the professor nodded, "Now tuck in, we have a lot to do tomorrow."

The ghost boy smiled at the thought. He couldn't wait to see the Dursleys' face when he told them he was leaving.

"Goodnight Professor," Harry called out to the man next to him. Dumbledore had snuffed the candles out of the room and now it was dark.

"Goodnight young Harry," the headmaster responded.

It didn't take long for both males to fall asleep and the room fell silent save for the soft breathing of the two occupants.

**So I compromised a bit, Darry got to both punch Dumbledore and forgive the guy. Mrs. Figg gets her house remodeled by a fabulous old man and the Dursleys are down one Slave/nephew.**

*****My next chapter will probably be around by wednesday and no, reviewing won't make it come around faster this time cuz it's not finished yet. But I bet it didn't hurt to write a review for the last chapter, so why not give share your opinion of this one? I don't bite.**

**Seriously Reviews are a fuel for my Passion and imagination. **


	8. Divorcing the Dursleys

**Sorry for the wait guys. I know I said Wednesday, but I was just so wiped after those last couple chapters. I have classes starting soon too, so I might not update as often, but I'll do what I can!**

* * *

Dumbledore really had no idea what to expect when he had gone to Privet drive that night. Even if the wards were still functioning, Arabella Figg's letter had painted a picture of long-term abuse and neglect. Harry could have been a traumatized child that retreated into himself and avoided human contact out of fear for all he knew. The verbal abuse that the woman described made it possible for the old headmaster to imagine a boy whose confidence had been completely torn down by the very people who were suppose to nurture it and damaged beyond repair.

Or he could have become a cold and cynical youth that had lost all capacity for love and empathy. The environment described to him seemed just close enough to the conditions that a certain Tom Riddle had experienced growing up. Dumbledore wasn't sure what he would do if he had a hand in the rise of _another _dark lord.

Instead the bearded headmaster found himself face to face with something completely beyond his expectations. The boy he met that night was confident and _strong, _both physically (if the bruises on his jaw and eye were anything to go by) and mentally. He was absolutely baffled, but couldn't stop himself from being secretly thrilled. Yes Harry Potter had suffered from child abuse, but it hadn't broken him.

Still Albus had wanted to check if there was any trauma he didn't know about and had used legilimency to find out. Or at least he tried to. Almost immediately the man was pushed out and staring into the none too pleased eyes that had once been one of Lily's most defining features. The child seemed to have also inherited her temper, as the youth was soon berating him for violating his mind… and blowing up the family mailbox.

He could take the accusations for property damage, but it hurt the professor to realize that the boy was right about him violating the child's psyche. The mind was a sacred place and it unless the owner deigned to share, then its secrets were meant to stay just that, secrets.

The old wizard had wondered when it had gotten to the point where he would invade even the mind of an innocent child. It certainly hadn't started out that way. When he had first learned the skill he had been unwilling to use it anywhere, but the Wizengamot and only on suspected criminals. The slope became slippery though, when one stays in politics for long enough. Soon everyone starts to use any advantage they can to get a leg up on the competition, Albus had been no exception. Even then he would only use it on especially tricky political opponents trying to keep one step ahead of him using their own unfair advantages.

It had probably hit rock bottom though when Voldemort had risen to power. He could trust no one and the safest way to know that someone was being honest was to probe their mind for answers. It was a depressing truth that had saved the lives of several in the Order more than once from spies who had sought to join and gain information for their Dark Lord.

Dumbledore hadn't even realized just how far he had loosened his restraint, how desensitized he had become to the act of violating someone's privacy. He felt ashamed that it took the son of James and Lily Potter to make him realize how far he had fallen.

He had gotten down on his knees and apologized to the boy for everything he had been put through on his orders. He didn't expect forgiveness, but he hoped it would allow him enough trust to take Harry away from the Dursleys and somewhere safer. The boy-who-lived surprised him once again by not only forgiving him, but even so far as to give him another chance. Albus had never felt so grateful and so guilty at the same time.

Still, Dumbledore noticed some off things about the boy-who-lived. His accent was a bit strange for one thing. It sounded a bit like whenever a witch or wizard visited the states for an extended period of time. They always came back with a strange mix of an American accent stirred up with their native British one. He also seemed to have a rather incredible memory. The fact that he actually remembered the day his parents died was nothing less than astounding. It was also a bit painful as he seemed to conveniently remember that Dumbledore was the one who decided to put him at the Dursleys in the first place. He would try to figure that out later though, right then the old wizard was just happy that the boy had agreed to come back with him to Mrs. Figg's

Of course when they arrived at their host's house the boy had continued to impress him with his ability to piece together what magic was despite the fact that his family had evidently done everything in their power to keep the youth ignorant. Young Harry had also displayed an impressive sense of justice and morality for his age. The boy was clearly interested in the rights of other beings besides those of human wizards, which was a truly rare sentiment among the wizarding populace. The headmaster was glad to find one so young who could see past the appearances of others.

The bearded man had been a bit taken back at Harry's wish to seek justice against the Dursleys, but understood the boy's anger. It was relief to Dumbledore that Harry had been so mature about the special circumstances and why he couldn't have his closure. It still didn't stop the guilt from welling up at the sight of the child's resigned face though.

When they visited the Dursleys to get Harry's things Dumbledore would give those _people_ a piece of his mind.

* * *

The next morning Dumbledore awoke to an adjusted alarm spell that he had invented. It had initially been used as a security alarm, but the clever old coot managed to rework it so that it didn't sound off at an intruder, but at a specific time of day instead. The charm in its original state had only been audible to the caster and was extremely useful for covert situations, now it served to wake up the caster without disturbing the rest of the room. It was highly useful for dorm living; perhaps he'd show Harry once he got his wand?

The headmaster looked over to the sleeping boy on the bed next to him. He had looked so happy last night when he had first saw the bed that Dumbledore had conjured. The old man felt a rush of pride at the way the youth had savored the sheets and relished the soft mattress beneath him. It was nice to know that his transfiguration skills were up to snuff. The feeling didn't last long though, when he remembered what the boy was probably used to sleeping on. The warlock probably could have transfigured something much simpler and young Harry still would have been happy.

He probably hadn't enjoyed a comfortable night's sleep in years. Dumbledore was loathed to wake him up, but they had a lot to do today so Harry couldn't spend all day in bed.

No matter how adorable he looked doing it.

"Harry," Albus called.

He didn't get an immediate answer, "….mhhrwhaaatt..?"

"We have a lot to do today, I'm afraid we can't do it all and stay in the bed at the same time… Well we could, but it would break the Statute of Secrecy, and it would just be very lazy," the old professor nodded sagely, but the effect was ruined a bit with the way his eyes twinkled.

The boy turned his bleary eyes to the elder wizard then and stared for a moment, possibly trying to imagine doing errands on a flying bed, before shaking his head and messing up his hair even more. The elder blinked, he didn't think potter hair came any messier, but alas, it seemed both James and Harry had lived to prove him wrong.

"Come Harry," Dumbledore said again, "I believe, Mrs. Figg is making breakfast downstairs."

Harry sat up sluggishly and patted down his hair absently. Evidently he was aware of how much of a lost cause it seemed to be because he didn't try for very long. The boy swung his legs around and jumped off the bed. Dumbledore followed behind. The two made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen where Mrs. Figg was indeed preparing breakfast.

She gave them both an annoyed glare and made shooing motions with her hands.

"There ain't enough room in this kitchen for you two to stand around like fools and watch me cook! Go wait in the dining room like good boys," she admonished. The two males didn't argue and left.

When the two sat down in the dining room in the same spots as yesterday, Harry spoke first.

"Are we going to get my stuff today?" the boy inquired softly, "I don't really have all that much, so we won't have to carry a lot," he tried to assure the man. Albus waved off the boy's concerns.

"You can bring as much as you want. Weight will not be an issue," He didn't want Harry to leave behind anything valuable because he thought they couldn't carry it all.

Harry didn't seem to be affected by the older man's words. Strange.

Albus didn't really get a chance to ponder this as an indignant screech came from the living room that drew both males' attention.

"That didn't sound like Mrs. Figg," Harry stated, "or her cats."

A hiss and a yowl came from the same direction.

"That one _was_ a cat though," Harry added.

Not a moment later, a fiery colored mass of feathers swept into the room being chased swiftly by a white, furry blur. The speed didn't seem to bother the child in front of Dumbledore though, because as soon as the white blur was within range Harry rapidly darted his hand downward and grabbed it.

Upon closer inspection it appeared to be Snowy, one Mrs. Figg's many cats, that Harry had grabbed by the tail. It was obviously displeased about this fact. Albus on the other hand quietly marveled at the boy's reflexes and wondered if he would be any good at quidditch one day.

The flame themed blur settled on Dumbledore's shoulder and glared at the creature Harry was holding. It seemed that Snowy had decided that Fawkes was breakfast. The poor cat was lucky that Fawkes was an extremely passive creature in nature and only used force when absolutely needed, Albus mused to himself. Otherwise the poor feline would have been torn to ribbons on the floor thanks to the bird's deadly talons.

Harry looked at the cat in his hand and then dropped it quickly after seeing the murderous glare it gave him. The offended creature landed on its feet and looked at the table. It appeared that its snack had found something to hide behind. In response, Snowy stuck her nose and tail in the air and pranced out of the room letting everyone know just what she thought of getting in her way.

Harry smirked a bit and shook his head while Dumbledore chuckled; there was a reason the old man had chose a mythical creature over a domesticated one.

Harry watched the disgruntled furball leave before turning his attention to the magnificent (At least that's how Dumbledore always considered his familiar, which always caused the bird to preen a bit at its human's thoughts) avian that perched itself atop the headmaster's shoulder.

Said shoulder was now sagging a bit due to the bird's weight which Dumbledore would have look after when they got back to Hogwarts. The phoenix glared indignantly at his partner and harshly pecked at the old wizard's head as if to say he would do _no_ such thing.

"I'm going to go ahead and guess that he's not from around here," Harry quipped.

"You'd be right," Mrs. Figg answered before Dumbledore could open his mouth. She walked into the dining room carrying a serving plate of pancakes, a stack of three single plates, syrup, butter, and powdered sugar, all on one tray, "That there's a phoenix Harry and not only are they a rare bird, but Professor Dumbledore is one of only two people in the world to have ever tamed one," She laid down her load and strolled back into the kitchen. Harry blinked owlishly and stared at where the woman once stood. It took less than a minute for the lady of the house to sweep back into the room with three glasses of water and a pitcher to refill it with. She stared at the boy who was staring at her.

"Something wrong dear?" Mrs. Figg raised a brow.

Harry averted his eyes quickly when he was caught staring and apologized, "I'm sorry. It's nothing," He assured the squib and squirmed a bit uncomfortably, "it's just that I never really had anyone make me anything like this before," he blushed.

Arabella huffed indignantly, "I see."

She seemed to shut herself up after that. Dumbledore didn't need to read her mind to know that she was holding herself back for the sake of the child in the room. Like she had said before, manners were important. A ten-year old boy had no need to hear the words that were quite obviously on the tip of the opinionated kneazel-breeder's tongue.

Albus inwardly agreed not to draw attention to the subject; both out of his own guilt on the matter and the fact that it obviously made the boy uncomfortable.

He asked wordlessly if they could start the meal and the hostess nodded before passing the elder wizard a serving plate and the pancake platter.

"You were right about Fawkes, Harry," the bearded wizard added syrup and butter to his plate before passing it to Harry, "He hails from Egypt. Most phoenixes do in fact. For some reason though, my companion decided to follow me home and he's been by my side ever since, but I can't complain," Dumbledore confessed as he watched Harry smother his pancakes with syrup, "Phoenixes make highly faithful pets."

Fawkes gave a melodious trill and nuzzled his face against Dumbledore's cheek. Harry smiled at the two between stuffing his face with mouthfuls of food. The boy swallowed a ridiculous amount of flapjacks and managed not to choke before he started talking again.

"What was magical Egypt like?" he asked. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again.

"Simply fascinating my boy. Their views and practices on ancient magic never really went out of style like their muggle counterparts, They can still read hieroglyphs as fluently as they could three millennia ago," Harry nodded.

Mrs. Figg looked at the two reproachfully from her seat, "I'm sure your trip to Africa was fascinating Professor Dumbledore, but I think you should be more worried about the present than talking about the old days," she stated primly.

"Ah, yes," Albus conceded, "You would probably be right," He turned his attention to the youth, who had finished his breakfast and was now wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"I'll talk to your aunt and uncle while you go get your things Harry, you won't have to worry about them doing anything untoward to you in my presence," the professor assured the boy. Harry furrowed his brows a bit.

"If it's all the same to you Professor Dumbledore, I'd like to have a few words with my relatives myself," he stated.

The headmaster's blinked, "Are you sure you can handle it?" Dumbledore was very aware of the emotional damage abusers often left the abused with. He didn't want Harry to lose his composure in a confrontation. Albus had the feeling that Harry would never forgive himself for something like that.

Harry stared up at Dumbledore defiantly, "I'm not afraid of those people, they couldn't break me and I want them to know it."

Dumbledore couldn't have stopped the rush of pride even if he had wanted to.

"That's the spirit!" Mrs. Figg pumped her fist in the air, "Give those miserable bums what-for!"

Dumbledore pushed his plate forward, "I assume you're ready then?"

Harry nodded, his gaze was still as focused as before, but it softened a bit when he turned to his hostess.

"Thank you for breakfast Mrs. Figg."

"Think nothing of it dear," she waved it off.

With that Harry turned back to the elder wizard and his gaze was back to its focused state. Dumbledore wondered idly why the stare had seen so familiar. It wasn't something that Lily had been known for, or had she? No, he had seen that on other people besides the hot-tempered red-head. It was almost nostalgic in the sense that it brought back memories of war.

It dawned on the old wizard as the two males left the door to Mrs. Figg's house. That gaze was almost exclusive to someone who was preparing for battle.

* * *

Once the duo arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive Harry took a moment to inspect the destroyed mailbox in the light of day. He turned to the adult next to him and gave him two thumbs up with a grin. Dumbledore gave a smile of his own with a twinkle in the corner of his eye.

Albus rang the doorbell and the two listened to the sound of big lumbering footsteps making their way to the other side of the door. It swung open to reveal Vernon Dursley.

"Hello? Can I hel- what are you doing with that _man, boy?" _His pleasant greeting swiftly became hostile as soon as he recognized Dumbledore. Or maybe he just didn't like what the man was wearing, Albus mused. He had run into muggles with that problem before…

"I'm here with Harry so he can pack his things," the professor announced, "If you would kindly let us in…?"

Vernon glared viciously at the old man, "Now see here! I will not have a freak in _my_ house!" the portly man proclaimed.

"That's alright uncle Vernon," Harry piped up, "Professor Dumbledore can just wait out here while I pack. You know, for all the neighbors to gawk at. He even offered to fix the mailbox, which looks like it was in a terrible accident by the way," said Harry innocently, "I'm sure it would be a really cool show for the couple across the street to see."

Vernon turned a shade of purple that Dumbledore was positive to be unhealthy for human beings and started flapping his mouth open and shut. Albus idly looked down at Harry, who was smiling innocently at his uncle, and the old man had to wonder if the boy wouldn't end up in Slytherin.

"Just get in here!" Vernon barked. His need to appear normal overrode his repulsion of Dumbledore.

"Why thank you," Dumbledore nodded politely at the fuming man and walked into the entranceway, Harry followed behind.

Petunia walked into the hall to see the fuss and didn't like what she saw.

"Where have you been boy?" she screeched, "I had to cook breakfast myself this morning!" Dumbledore frowned deeply.

"And how long has Mr. Potter been cooking meals for the family?" he fixed his gaze on the horse faced woman, "You wouldn't happen to take turns fixing meals, would you?" the lady of the house fidgeted uncomfortably under his scrutiny and couldn't seem to find her voice.

"I've made breakfast lunch and dinner since I was four sir," Harry answered for his aunt, while glaring fiercely at the woman, "along with the gardening and the house cleaning."

"You shut your mouth _boy_!" Vernon shouted. He seemed to address his nephew with utter loathing.

Professor Dumbledore switched his gaze sharply from Petunia to Mr. Dursley, to the former's secret relief.

"The boy has every right to air his grievances Mr. Dursley," the headmaster stated firmly, "but I'm afraid you wouldn't know very much about children's rights at all now would you Vernon?"

The Dursley Patriarch shoved a meaty finger in the Headmaster's direction, "Now see here you-"

"I see very clearly," Albus disrupted the man, "You and your wife are incapable of looking past your prejudices and raising your own nephew," the wizard turned his attention back to Petunia, "He was all you had left of your sister Petunia and you tried to ruin him."

The woman seemed to get over her fear of the man for the moment as a look of pure unadulterated spite crossed her face.

"I lost my sister the day she decided to spend her life with freaks!" Petunia hollered, "She left the normal for your world and look where that got her! Six feet under, she is!"

"Harry was still your family," Dumbledore persisted, "he was still your responsibility! You couldn't look past the resentment you felt for your sister for one second and raise a poor orphaned child? You should be ashamed of yourself Petunia!"

"We never agreed to take the boy in the first place!" Vernon bellowed, "You freaks just left him on our doorstep and expected us to do the rest!"

"Family should always take in family," Dumbledore stated, "If your son had been left on Marge Dursley's doorstep she would have taken the boy in without a second thought."

"Our son isn't a freak like that one, so it's hardly a comparison!" Vernon shouted.

Dumbledore was about to say more when another voice intervened.

"Enough," Harry's voice rang strong and clear through the hall, "Thanks for trying Professor, but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia will always be like this. They never wanted me and I never wanted them, but that's alright now because I won't be your problem anymore."

"What the devil are you talking about boy?" Petunia demanded, "You haven't got a choice here, just like us," She huffed bitterly.

"That used to be true, before you screwed it up," Harry said bluntly, "I was only here because of those blood-ward things and I know you know what I'm talking about Aunt Petunia."

Vernon looked to his wife, "What on earth is that boy on about? There's nothing like that in this house, right pet?"

Petunia looked down at her feet, "…Lily said they were suppose to keep all of us safe from their freakish little world," she looked at her husband guiltily, "All I had to do was take the boy in and we would be protected from the freaks Vernon! I was thinking of Dudley and I couldn't pass on that kind of protection!" she cried.

Vernon seemed to deflate a bit and held his flustered wife close, "It's alright poppet, you were trying to keep little Dudders safe."

"Well that won't work anymore," Harry cut through his Aunt and Uncle's emotional moment guiltlessly, "the wards are gone now and so any of the protection you were receiving if you ever received any at all."

"What are you talking about?" Petunia asked desperately, "What did you do?"

"I only did what was natural," Harry glared back at his aunt, "You did the rest. The wards will only work if you take me in willingly-"

"Which I did you ungrateful brat!" The housewife screeched.

"-And if I consider the place home. That second condition was kind of impossible with you and Uncle Vernon constantly telling me that I was an unwanted burden. Sleeping under the stairs, and watching you spoil the living daylights out of your pig son didn't help too much either. By the way, who in their right mind _laughs_ at a four-year old getting chased by a vicious dog that clearly wants to rip him apart? That kind of behavior is usually reserved for psychopaths, _not_ family-get-togethers. So yeah, it was kind of impossible to consider this place anything close to a home," Harry finished.

Dumbledore looked at the Dursleys in horror. What was this about a killer dog? Riddle's orphanage was starting to sound like a resort compared to these people!

"Why you ungrateful little-" Harry didn't let Vernon finish.

"I think you've got it backwards," Harry's voice was louder now, "after all, who cooked all three of your meals? Who made your yard the envy of the neighborhood? Who was it that kept the house up to Aunt Petunia's ridiculous standards? It sure wasn't your son, that's for sure. He was too busy breaking the toys you gave him for his last birthday. And how many presents did he get for that birthday? Thirty-eight if I remember right. And what did you get me? More of Dudley's old hand-me-downs, which you would have given me anyway! What on god's green earth do I have to thank you for?!" Harry shouted.

Vernon was more furious than before, which Albus had been sure was impossible, "Now you listen here boy-"

"No!" Harry roared, "I'm done listening to you, to both of you! You've done nothing but call me a freak and a useless burden since I got here and I'm done!"

His nephew's rebellion seemed to snap something in Vernon, because the large man lunged for the small boy with his arms outstretched for the child's neck.

Dumbledore had just about finished a silent, wandless knockback jinx, but Mr. Dursley had already been dispatched and laid in a groaning heap at the boy-who-lived's feet. Albus was shocked to say the least. Normally he would have chalked it up to accidental magic, but Harry didn't seem surprised by the occurrence at all. The last child to have that kind of control over their magic at that age was him… and Riddle, but Dumbledore had seen no evidence of Harry hurting others so callously like Tom had done in his childhood and as the Americans say 'innocent until proven guilty'.

Harry glared at his uncle in contempt, "You're nothing but a bully Uncle Vernon. You hate what you don't understand and then you lash out at it. You enjoy picking on people smaller than you and you just can't stand it when they stand up for themselves. Well guess what?" Harry knelt down to his Uncles level, "You lose. You didn't break me. I still have my magic, which I totally know about by the way, and I'm going to walk right out of this house and live my life and I'll never have to think about you or your awful family again."

Petunia was too frightened to move and just stood where she was.

Harry stood up from his uncle before saying, "I'm sorry about electrocuting you by the way. That was an accident," and turned on his heel to open the door to the cupboard under the stairs. He looked around before looking to Dumbledore sheepishly.

"I uhm," he fumbled and rubbed the back of his neck. Albus was a bit taken back by the drastic personality switch, "kinda don't own a suit case to carry my clothes in."

Dumbledore nodded and then glared at Petunia for a second, "I see," He stroked his beard for a moment and pondered the situation, "Ah! You wouldn't happen to have a knapsack of some kind would you Harry?"

"I have my school bag, but I don't think it'll hold all my stuff," Harry answered.

"Not to worry lad, just bring it here and it will be no trouble at all," the elder wizard replied.

Harry nodded a bit unsurely, but dug deeper into his cupboard and pulled out his old black backpack. It was one of Dudley's old hand-me-downs of course, but it was in relatively good condition.

"Set in on the floor my boy and give it plenty of room," Dumbledore instructed. Harry did as the old man asked and backed away quickly, which Albus noted and applauded the boy mentally for his caution. Most muggle-raised wizards were clueless about spells like these about to be performed.

The headmaster pulled out his wand and waved it at the backpack and almost instantaneously the knapsack morphed into a large trunk.

Petunia looked on from where she was standing in horror, but didn't say anything.

"Will that be big enough Harry?" Professor Dumbledore inquired.

Harry grinned, "I don't know if I have enough stuff to fill that thing to be honest sir," he laughed a bit. Dumbledore smiled, but it was forced.

It didn't take long after that to finish packing. Harry hadn't been joking when he said he didn't own much. In less than thirty minutes the cupboard was empty and the only proof that Harry had lived in it was the cot that he slept in.

"I'm ready to go," the ravenette waved.

Dumbledore nodded, "Just one moment."

The elder wizard waved his wand in again and the trunk shrank in size to the point where Harry could fit it in his pocket.

"Neat," Harry commented, "...must be a nightmare to lose in the wash though."

Dumbledore looked at the boy quizzically.

"…nevermind."

* * *

**Hehe… Dumbledore doesn't get muggle laundry jokes.**

**OHMEHGERD! Dumbledore is taking an active and not creepy interest in Harry's life! Blasphemy!**

**Yeah, Dudley wasn't in this chapter, sorry. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and a boy his age would be outside playing. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how this will affect Dudley's shape up in the future, cuz now he won't have that traumatic life experience to show him what a twatwaffle he was. He would have cluttered the chapter anyway.**

**That mailbox WON'T GO AWAY! **

_**Read and Review guys! It might give me Ideas!**_


	9. Incogneto

**This is my longest chapter to date, I hope your happy**

**Also the name of my story has been bothering me for a while, I'm thinking of changing it. Anyone with an idea is welcome to share it!**

* * *

It felt absolutely liberating to tell off his brute of an Uncle, Harry had decided. He felt at least several pounds lighter when he left the house and it had nothing to do with the fact that he could defy gravity. He wished he could have told off his overweight cousin too, but he was off playing with his neighborhood bully squad somewhere.

Well, tell off wouldn't have been that accurate. In all honesty he wished his cousin the best because the truth was that he was even more damaged by his parents than Harry had ever been. At least Harry had been forced to become self-reliant and learn basic skills during his days as the Dursleys' slave.

Dudley however, had been sheltered far beyond what was considered healthy. He had never been punished in his life and his parents had caved to his every whim. The two adults had made absolutely no effort to give the boy any kind of moral center and it showed constantly to anyone who paid attention to the playground during recess. Dudley was constantly sheltered from the facts of life and consequences of his own actions. When the day came that Dudley was forced to strike out on his own, he'll find that himself completely unprepared for the real world and he would have no one to blame, but his parents. Harry pitied him.

The boy-who-lived-halfway turned his mind from such thoughts and instead to his elder companion.

"What's next," he asked.

The Professor turned his mysteriously twinkly eyes to the ghost hybrid.

"I would normally say that we should head immediately back to Hogwarts," The headmaster said, "but as I've mentioned before, you would be safest there with the least people knowing about your location as possible. Children are not due to leave the school for another day or two, so it would be best if we stayed somewhere else for the time being."

"Does that mean we'll be staying at Mrs. Figg's, then?" Harry asked.

"No, I'm afraid we've abused her hospitality long enough. Fawkes has gone back to the castle already, and I returned our guestroom to its original state before we left this morning. Young Arabella is aware that we may not come back, but she encourages you to write to her," Harry gave a small smile. He wouldn't mind that.

"Is there anywhere secluded around here that's by a road?" Dumbledore asked out of the blue.

"Uhm, maybe. Why?"

The headmaster smiled benevolently at his clueless ward, "We're going to catch a bus, my boy."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that. He didn't bother to point out that buses usually needed bus stops, as it was rather obvious that this would be another magical thing that he would need to see to get. In the end the ghost boy just sighed.

"Yeah, I know a spot," he said, "I usually just use it to avoid Dudley and his friends on the weekends, but it's right by a road with almost nothing around it so I think it should work."

"Excellent," the old wizard beamed, "Lead the way."

Harry did just that and now the duo was walking out of the neighborhood. Neither had any desire to look back.

* * *

"Hey, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes Harry?"

The boy-who-half-lived fidgeted a bit, while walking, "You said I was famous in your world didn't you?"

"Indeed, everyone knows about the boy who survived the killing curse," the Chief Warlock confirmed.

"Do they know what I look like?" Harry asked. He had been a baby the last time anyone from the Wizarding World had seen him maybe he could still be unnoticed.

Dumbledore blinked in surprise, "Well, no, but some people know what your parents looked like and you do resemble them quite a lot, but they don't even need to know that much Harry, because everyone knows what your scar looks like. In fact it's legendary."

"But they never even saw it!" Harry exclaimed. Why would anyone know about his facial disfigurements?

"Sure it's an awesome lightning bolt scar, but like five people saw it! How does that make a legend?!" Harry asked desperately, how the hell was he suppose to have a clean slate like this? "If I had a lightning bolt scar over my _eye_ I could totally understand why everyone would talk about that. That would be the most awesome scar ever, but the forehead is nothing special!"

"Even so Harry, it is not the scar's appearance that people are impressed by, although you do pull it off very well," Professor Dumbledore said bemusedly, "It is how you got that scar that has them so awe inspired. The scar is just the physical proof that drew their attention and fascination."

The ten-year old slumped and his walking pace turned into a trudge.

So there was no escaping his celebrity fate, huh?

Unless…

"Hey Professor? You wouldn't happen to have any not magic money on you, would you?" Harry asked hopefully. He remembered his late parents talking about using nuts or something to pay for things, and Harry knew that was _not_ standard English currency.

Dumbledore didn't seem to be alarmed by the rapid subject change in subject, or at least he didn't show it.

"As a matter of fact I happen to have a bit of muggle currency, from what the muggle studies professor had given me as leftover from the seventh years final exam," the old wizard admitted.

"What do they need money for?" If they paid kids to take that exam, then Harry would be a straight A student if he had to.

"The exam takes the students into the city and the object of the exam is to bland in with muggle society. They are given money to do so and they are expected to write an essay when they return on the experience," Dumbledore answered.

Oh, well there goes that idea, but that did sound like an easy A; something to look into

"Did you need to buy something?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, actually. It's in town, but you said we were taking a bus so…" the hybrid trailed off.

"Not to worry my boy. The bus will stop anywhere on land," Dumbledore assured.

"All right. Oh, by the way, we've been standing at the spot for a couple minutes now," Harry thought to enlighten his traveling companion, just in case he hadn't figured it out.

The aged professor looked at Harry with that expression adults gave children for being cheeky, "I had figured, but didn't want to assume," he said lightly.

"So what now," Harry asked, ignoring the Headmaster's subtle admonishment.

"Now I signal the Knight bus," the elder man answered.

"A night bus?" Harry repeated, "It's a little early don't you think Professor?" In fact, it was barely noon when they left the Dursleys.

The headmaster didn't answer and merely smiled secretively with that thrice-damned twinkle in his eye. He raised his wand and lifted it high in the air. For a moment nothing happened and Harry was about to say something but he cut himself off.

Off in the distance he saw a huge purple mass hurtling towards them and if he had blinked he would have missed the rest of the object's journey. As it was, Harry watched in fascinated glee as the object rejected all laws of inertia and momentum and stopped right in front of the two wizards after going from over one hundred miles per hour to zero in less than a second.

It had taken Fentonworks _years _to flip physics the bird like that!

Harry and Dumbledore were now standing in front of what appeared to be a triple-decker bus. Harry had no idea that those existed, but was pretty sure that it had to have an awful center of gravity considering its width and height. He hoped the bus could ignore that scientific law too or else they were all kind of screwed.

The duo climbed onto the back and entered the bus. A teenager, who looked no older than seventeen, walked up to greet the two. Harry quickly arranged whatever bangs he had in front of his scar before the other boy could get a closer look at him.

"Where to?" The pimply teen asked. Dumbledore looked to Harry who rattled off the street name that he wanted to be dropped off at. The high-school aged kid nodded and yelled the address to the front of the bus.

"Yah might want to find yourselves a seat," The big eared teen grinned, "it's a bit of a wild ride."

Harry was tempted to stay standing, that sounded like a challenge after all, but he didn't really want to worry the Professor, so he quietly made his way to the empty bench that the Headmaster had already claimed for them. They both ignored the strangely dressed people around them. Harry had seen weirder get-ups in his old world, and he wasn't even talking about the Ghost Zone.

Harry shuddered a bit. He thought he repressed that memory; the San Diego Comic Convention of 2012 was not something he liked to think about, _ever_.

He heard a yell from the driver in front and the bus fell into motion again. The warning did almost nothing to help the passengers though, who were all clutching desperately onto the seats in front of them to keep their balance. It would seem that law in the wizarding world didn't require safety belts in motor vehicles.

_Smooth_.

Harry couldn't say he minded all that much again, he was the only one on board who was holding his hands in the air and cheering. Sure, he had garnered a few looks, but no one noticed his scar, and he hadn't ridden a roller coaster in years, dammit! He would take what he could get!

The bus stopped a couple of times to pick up a few more passengers and let others off and while the jarring halt for each stop actually threw some patrons out of their seats, Harry and Dumbledore managed to stay more or less where they had first sat down. Finally the teen conductor called their stop and the two stepped off the crazy bus and onto a busy city street.

"Are you sure you know where you're going Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Some people stared at him as they walked by, but stayed true to the nature of city goers everywhere of just shrugging it off and carrying on with their own business.

"Yup, the shop I need is right there," Harry pointed a ways down the sidewalk and started walking. Dumbledore followed and soon they were standing in front of a store called _Sephora_.

"Can I have that money please?" Harry asked, "I won't be too long."

"You don't want me to come in with you?" Dumbledore asked.

"This is going to be painful enough for me, I'd rather you didn't watch," Harry admitted.

The old wizard wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he just gave the boy next to him the money he had and watched his charge disappear into the shop.

* * *

Harry felt awkward walking into a cosmetics store, but the sales clerk was really helpful. Once he showed her his scar and that he was not coming in to play with the merchandise, she was all too happy to give help him finding the right color cover up.

She even helped him apply the sample bottle of the color to cover up his scar before he left the store. She also provided tips on how to apply the product, which she wrote down on the back of the receipt. He was grateful for the help, but it unnerved him how much the woman's expression resembled Jazz's when she wanted to play dress up when they were kids. Harry shuddered; she had always wanted a little sister.

* * *

When Harry walked out of the store he didn't bother to cover his forehead with his bangs anymore and the good professor immediately noticed the change.

"Good lord Harry, what happened to your scar?" He asked a bit panicked.

Harry grinned, "It's called a disguise. It's not gone or anything, it's just hidden. I don't really want to get swamped the minute I get to your world professor. I want to see it without random people getting in the way to gawk at my facial disfigurement."

The explanation seemed to appease the man, who was now silently marveling over said facial disfigurement's disappearing act, "I never realized muggles had gotten so good with camouflage, I can barely believe it was there at all!" He exclaimed softly as the two made their way down to a more secluded area to catch the knight bus once again.

"Thanks," Harry said a bit sheepishly, "I just wish my hair was a bit longer. I may not need to cover the scar with it anymore, but Aunt Petunia always hacked it off so unevenly that I always stick out like a sore thumb," he wasn't lying. The famous potter hair was made even wilder by the uneven chops and hacks made by the inexperienced and spiteful barber.

"I might be able to help you with that," the two managed to find themselves an unobtrusive part of the city around some building under construction. The workers were either off duty for the day or on break, so there was no one, but Harry to see Dumbledore pull out his wand and aim it at his head.

"This won't make my head explode will it?" Harry questioned, thinking about the Dursleys' ex mailbox.

"Don't be silly, my boy. If you'll allow me, I might be able to help with you tame that mop on your head," the wizard explained, "I find that I must agree with your earlier assessment. It is _very _ill done."

Harry looked at the old man in front of him a bit unsurely. On one hand he was getting an offer to get his hair into something resembling a natural shape. On the other hand he was also letting some old guy that he just met yesterday take a free headshot.

Harry looked at his reflection in one of the glass windows of a nearby building and cringed.

Eh, nothing's killed him yet, and the old wizard hasn't had much luck screwing with his mind so far…

"I guess," Harry, conceded, "I can let you take a crack at it. You can't be worse that Aunt Petunia."

Dumbledore chuckled, "No, I suppose can't. _Crescatio saeta."_

A weak jet of golden sparks exited the wizard's wand and landed on Harry's head. The sparks settled on the hybrid's hair and scalp for a moment before they seeped into the uneven mane. Harry's hair then proceeded to _grow._

Every single hair upon his head appeared to have been bolstered by the magic the professor had bestowed upon him. Less than half a minute later the ghost boy was sporting a curtain of black hair down to his shoulders in a nice even length.

Harry blinked and looked back at his reflection. His eyes almost popped out of his skull.

"That was a bit more than I was expecting," he admitted.

Dumbledore conjured a hair tie for the poor boy, "I must admit that I don't have much experience with the charm myself," the master wizard confessed, "this was the shortest and most even length I could really get it without it becoming a bowel cut. I've heard that style is most unfashionable these days."

The ghost boy gave a shiver that had nothing to do with his ghost core and nodded gratefully. He took the tie from the man and pulled his hair back in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. The tail itself was kind of spiky at the end, but that was the only trace left of his infamous potter hair. It actually reminded Harry a bit of his jerky future self from that one timeline, which was almost uncomfortable.

He turned his attention back to the professor.

"So, I don't look like the boy who lived anymore, but you still look like you," Harry stated frankly.

"Yes," Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow curiously, "I wasn't aware that I needed to change."

"You said that you were the headmaster of your school," said the boy-who-lived, "in fact you said that you were the headmaster of the only school for magic in the UK. School's still in session and you're not there, which would be odd for people to see. When we first met you made it sound like I could have heard of you before, so does that mean you're well known in the wizarding world or something?"

Perhaps being the headmaster of the only magical school in the UK was something to be famous for? Harry wasn't sure, but he wouldn't deny the possibility. As headmaster of that kind of school, he was in charge of educating the entire future generation of their society, which was a huge deal. He could imagine some serious prestige with that position.

"I suppose you could say that," Dumbledore smiled, "As headmaster, I command quite a bit of respect in the community. I also hold the position of Chief Warlock in the Wizarding Counsel, which is a bit like being the President of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom," Harry gave a low whistle and Albus gave a slightly humorous bow, "it is an honor to serve, my boy. I also serve as the Supreme Mugwump for the International Confederation of Wizards," the ghost hybrid nodded. Mugwump may have sounded ridiculous, but it basically sounded like head chair or something when in context, so he got the gist. And the International Confederation of Wizards didn't really need explaining. He just really hoped that they were more effective than the U.N., "I've done a couple other things in my time as well, but I think you get the idea."

Harry understood it perfectly. Professor Albus Dumbledore was just as famous as he was and covering his scar would do absolutely nothing if everyone and their mother could recognize the man standing next to him.

"So you're just as famous as me then?" Harry asked.

"I suppose you could say that," Dumbledore looked at Harry, with a bit of concern now. The ghost hybrid blanched. Oh god, did he think that he was _jealous_?

"Please don't look at me like that," Harry, pleaded, "I just went out of my way to hide my super famous scar. Remember? I just wanted to know because all of my hard work is gonna go straight down the drain if I show up wherever we're going next to you," he explained exasperatedly.

"What do you mean Harry," Dumbledore furrowed his brows.

"Well, you said that school is still in session right?" Dumbledore nodded, "Well you're not at school right now, which would be considered weird since you're the headmaster and all. So, say you show up where ever you're taking me and then everybody recognizes you. Someone will eventually notice that school's still not out yet and the Headmaster's traveling around with some kid. Scandals aside, people are gonna be curious about you and therefore me," Harry pointed out.

Dumbledore thought it over for a moment and the paled. Harry imagined him to be thinking about the followers of Voldemort, "I see your point Harry and you're absolutely right. It would be best for others not to know about your return to the magical community until your first year of Hogwarts this fall," He agreed, "Not to worry though, I too have had need to conceal myself from the public eye before and I know a trick or two to make myself a bit less obvious."

He pointed his wand at his torso and his flamboyant outfit morphed into a more muted set of brown and green robes, his hat took on a matching hue as well. He still looked like a wizard, but it wasn't as obvious as before.

The old man wasn't done yet though, next he pointed the wand at his nose and the Professor face was replaced with that of another old man that Harry had never seen before.

"It's called a glamour, Harry," Dumbledore explained to the curious child in front of him, "Usually the charm is applied to necklaces or other jewelry, so the caster doesn't have to maintain the spell himself, but any wizard or witch proficient enough in charms can apply it directly to themselves."

Harry nodded in understanding, but still had one question, "When you grew my hair out before, you had to say an incantation or something," he stated, "but I didn't see you do that for all the other spells I saw you do. Why is that?"

"A good question," the teacher applauded, "When a wizard or a witch is especially proficient at something they can perform spells wordlessly, if they are even more skilled then they can cast spells without a wand as well, to do both is a sign of mastery over a spell," Dumbledore lectured kindly, which Harry didn't know was possible, "Most of the spells I've performed around you were a kind of transfiguration, which I am a master of myself. I am very skilled at charms as well, but I must admit that I really haven't had any need for that particular spell for your hair, so I never really practiced it, but then again, I never had my hair cut like yours before either," Dumbledore said innocently.

"Lucky you," Harry deadpanned. Sarcasm aside though, Harry silently determined that he wouldn't rest until he could do all of his spells without a wand, which looked like it could be a handicap if he lost it in battle, "So are we ready to go where ever it is we're going?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore raised his wand in the air like he did before and just like earlier a crazy-fast, purple blur zoomed in front of them and stopped in a way that should have been impossible. The two got on, Dumbledore said someplace called 'The Leaky Cauldron' and the duo sat down and enjoyed another bus ride inspired by Six Flags.

* * *

Several stops later, the two males got off the purple monstrosity and stood in front of a darkened pub with a sign that read 'The Leaky Cauldron'. The sign even had a cauldron under the name and everything.

"Well that's not obvious or anything," Harry's eyes darted to the people walking by.

"It doesn't have to be," Dumbledore ignored the ghost boy's sarcasm, "The entrance is charmed to repel all muggles. They simply see a closed storefront and they never notice anyone enter."

The hybrid child nodded tentatively.

On another note, Harry officially refused to use the word muggle, himself, even if it was considered politically correct. It just sounded so demeaning.

Dumbledore opened the door to the pub and Harry walked in after him.

Harry felt like he had stepped back a century. The Leaky Cauldron was lit by candlelight and he couldn't spot a television anywhere. Most restaurants usually had at least one by the bar to watch sports with. It looked like hygiene standards had taken a couple steps backward too. Various unused corners of the place sported a fine layer of grime and the glasses at the bar looked more cloudy than clear. An enchanted mop spread filthy water across the floor by itself and Harry wondered if the owners didn't realize the soap was gone from the water or they just didn't care. If this had been a non-magical pub the Health inspector would have spent less than five seconds in the entryway before slamming down a notice to shut the whole place down. He didn't dare say any of that out loud though, he just kept a tight smile on his face and waited for his guide's next move.

Dumbledore didn't give Harry time to pick at the pub's deficiencies any further. He strolled up to the front of the bar and got the barkeeper's attention.

"Hello sir, I'd like two rooms for me and the lad," the disguised professor requested.

The barkeep nodded and looked at Harry, who waved at him.

"His mother was a squib of the family, who married a muggle and the boy just got his letter," Dumbledore whispered to the man.

"Ah," the barkeep replied. He looked over at the ghost boy and gave a kind smile, "name's Tom, boy. What's yours?"

"Harry," he replied succinctly. There was no need to give a false name now with the cover story that Dumbledore just provided.

"Good ta meet'ya Harry welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. Congratulations on becomin' a wizard," Tom grinned. He slid two keys over to Dumbledore who paid the barkeep and then placed the keys to the rooms in the pocket of his robes.

"Come along Harry," the headmaster beckoned, "We need to go to the bank next."

"Coming Grandpa," Harry assumed that was what the Professor wanted him to call him by. The elderly wizard made it sound like they were related, by what he told Tom and the duo never actually worked out an alias for the Chief Warlock in the first place, so he hoped Dumbledore didn't mind.

If the watery expression in his eyes were any indication, he was totally okay with it.

The two males walked out the back of the pub and into a rather unimpressive courtyard. Harry didn't bother to question Dumbledore's navigation skills; he figured magic would be involved somehow.

He was proved right less than a moment later when the headmaster walked right up to the brick wall on the other side of the courtyard and tapped his wand on the bricks in a counter-clockwise order. The wall responded to the old man's knocking by rearranging itself into an archway that led to a street bustling with people who were more or less dressed like Professor Dumbledore.

Harry idly wondered if he could have just phased through the wall and skipped the tapping altogether, or if the tapping was necessary to open a portal of some kind.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley Harry, most anything that you'll ever need to buy can be purchased in one of these shops," the professor said with flourish, "however before you look at anything, might I suggest that you stop at the bank first."

Harry nodded absently. He was a bit distracted by the sights and sounds of the street he just walked onto. Everything was so colorful and strange. One store window was advertising the oddest parts of animals, both real and mythical, as quality potion ingredients. Another store proudly displayed broomsticks, which according to the captions stuck on the glass could be used to _fly_ on. He was _so_ getting himself a broomstick. Yet another storefront advertised objects that Harry had no idea what to think of, much less how to use, but the bookstore next to it looked promising.

It was so strange and wonderful at the same time. It was like being in the Ghost Zone, but the laws of gravity still applied for the most part. Also, half the population wasn't green

"Come along Harry," Professor Dumbledore called again patiently. The old man smiled at the expression of wonder on the youth's face.

Harry head snapped back to the headmaster and the two made their way through the crowd all the way to a massive white building that stood above and apart from all the others.

"This is Gringotts Bank," the Chief Warlock stated, "it's run by goblins. If you respect them then they will return the same courtesy to you," The ghost boy nodded firmly and the two walked into the bank.

It was a relatively quiet day for Gringotts, so Harry and Professor Dumbledore were able to find an open station being manned by a goblin. Dumbledore pulled out a strange metal key from one of his robe pockets and handed it to Harry.

"This is the key to a trust vault that your parents set up for you at birth," said the older wizard, "hand it to that goblin and tell him your name. He will lead you to your vault."

Harry nodded and walked over to the empty banker's station. Dumbledore knew that they were keeping his identity a secret, but if he said that he could tell these guys, then Harry would take a leap of faith.

"Hi," the ghost boy grinned, "My name's Harry Potter and I was hoping you could give me a history of my finances for the last eleven years," the dull roar stopped anyone from hearing his name, except for the Goblin in front of him, "Will that cost me anything?"

"Ten sickles, fifty-four knuts," the goblin in front of him answered briskly. He was short and Harry guessed that he would have only reached his ribs if they stood next to each other. He had abnormally long fingers, at least by human standards and a long sharp nose. His eyes were dark, sharp and slanted and his ears were pointy too. He would have made a very ugly human, but for all Harry knew, he could be roguishly handsome by goblin standards.

Harry sighed, "Alright, then I guess I'll have to ask you to take me to my vault first, seeing as I have no money on me at the moment. Can I have your, name by the way?" he requested, "It really isn't good business to trade money with strangers."

The goblin's mouth quirked up into a calculated grin, showing pointed teeth, "No, I suppose it wouldn't Mr. Potter. My name is Bonok, but the one who handles your family's vaults and finances is Griphook. I'll call him for you."

"Thanks," Harry replied sincerely, still smiling. Harry didn't know what the professor was so worried about. The goblins seemed fine to him.

Bonok left his station to retrieve the other goblin and Harry waited patiently until they came back.

"Griphook, this is Mr. Potter. He would like to retrieve money from his vault," Bonok introduced the new goblin. This one's nose was a bit shorter and more uneven and his ears were not as long either. His neck seemed to be a little shorter and the lines in his face were even more pronounced.

"Does he have his key," Griphook asked Bonok.

Harry pulled the requested item from his pocket and showed it to both of them.

Griphook inspected the key for a moment before declaring, "everything is in order. Follow me Mr. Potter,"

Bonok looked to Dumbledore, "Am I to assume that the man you arrived here with is coming as well Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked back at Professor Dumbledore and shrugged, "Probably, he's kinda acting as my guardian at the moment, so he'll probably come along; if only to make sure I don't take out all my money at once to go on a shopping binge or some other stupid like that."

The two Goblins looked to each other for a split second in horror at the implications of the entire Potter vault being drained.

"No!" Griphook said with a twinge of panic, "that would be… most unwise indeed," the somewhat apprehensive goblin motioned for Dumbledore to come over and he obeyed the silent request.

"If you would follow me," said Griphook. The banker led the two wizards to what looked like some kind of lift except there were no seatbelts to be found on the seats.

Harry and Professor Dumbledore took a seat on the benches provided, while Griphook manned the front that appeared to steer the thing. The short banker pulled a level and the three sped off into the tunnels.

Harry threw his hands in the air like he did on the Knight bus. Was all magical transportation this much fun? He screamed in delight at the sharp turns and steep slopes that caverns of Gringotts provided. In the back of his mind he identified the ride as a mechanism to confuse would-be thieves, but the somewhat dominant ten-year old personality he had grown into was too busy enjoying the magical roller coaster to keep track of the twists and turns.

Eventually the cart came to a halt and the passengers exited the carriage.

"Man you guys sure know how to make discouraging thieves fun!" said Harry as he hopped off of his seat.

Griphook was probably used to non-magical born children having that reaction and Dumbledore had seen Harry do the same thing on the bus, so neither said anything about the ghost hybrid's evident joy in an anti-theft device.

Griphook walked up to a heavy-looking metal door that stood at least twice the height of an average human and slipped in Harry's key. He turned it the ghost child heard a very soft clicking sound. Griphook swung the door open and gestured for the two wizards to walk inside.

"Thank you," said Harry. He bowed his head slightly as he passed the goblin. The banker dipped his head in return, but didn't say anything.

Harry turned his head from the short banker to the inside of his vault and was taken aback, to say the least. It had been a _long_ time since he had seen that much gold and there was a _lot_ of gold there, not to mention piles of other precious metals, like silver and bronze.

"You said this was a trust fund?" Harry looked back to the Professor who shrugged.

"The Potters were a very old and very influential family. Your mother, Lily, made some very shrewd investments before her unfortunate demise as well," Dumbledore gazed impassively at the riches in front of him, "she was oddly business savvy. No one ever suspected," the old man shrugged, genuinely stumped.

Harry for his part was just relieved that his relatives never knew that he was loaded. He knew his aunt and uncle would have emptied the account for 'rent'. He still would have slept in the cupboard under the stairs and all that cash would have gone to spoiling their son even more than he already was.

He walked up to the towering piles of coins and was about to start filling his pockets before he had a better idea and turned to the two behind him.

"Would either of you happen to have something I could hold my withdrawal in?"

The older wizard nodded helpfully and waved his wand to conjure a sack about the size of his fist. Harry noted that Griphook watched the display of wand-aided magic with a display of ill-disguised contempt, so he reached over and grabbed the newly created bag quickly to ease the tension.

"Thanks," the ghost boy said quietly, sending a covert, confused gaze at the goblin banker.

_What was that about?_

"Your welcome," the headmaster responded curtly.

Harry returned to his previous task of stuffing the bag with coins. He mostly filled it the silver coin since her figured it to be the middle value, so it would probably be the most used.

"Harry that's an awful lot of money you're putting in there," Dumbledore stated cautiously.

The hybrid rubbed the back of his head a bit sheepishly.

"Well no one really told me the value or exchange rate for this stuff," Harry admitted, a bit embarrassed, "actually I'm not even sure what this stuff is called so…"

The Goblin guide looked completely horrified and gave a scathing glare at Professor Dumbledore for what he considered to be an unforgivable sin. The teacher looked appropriately ashamed on his part for not educating his charge with such important knowledge, and almost resembled a kicked puppy.

"The bronze coin is called a knut," began Griphook, "there is 29 Knuts to a Sickle and 439 Knuts to a Galleon. The Silver coin is the Sickle and there are 17 Sickles to a Galleon. The Galleon is the highest in the Magical Community's currency and is worth 4.93 British Pounds. For ten Sickles I can get you a full list of exchange rates worldwide," Griphook offered, both happy to show up the unknown wizard next to him and make a bit of profit at the same time.

Harry beamed at the banker, ignoring the sharp calculating grin that the goblin gave himself. It seemed that all Goblins smiled like that, the ghost boy supposed. The sheer feeling of greed that Harry had sensed from each of the little men gave seemed to indicate that was a universal instinct too, which made it perfectly understandable for the beings to be in the banking business.

"That would be great Mr. Griphook, thanks. Would you get that along with that history of finances that I requested before too; for all my accounts? Save yourself a trip," Harry counted the amount for due both the lists and gave it to Griphook who inclined his head.

"I will attend to the matter once we return to the main floor," he replied.

"Great," said Harry and the boy turned his attention back to filling his bag, only this time a bit more considerately.

"That's still quite a lot of money Harry," Dumbledore frowned.

"Well I plan to buy a lot of stuff," Harry cheerfully answered, "Within reason of course," he added quickly when he saw the old man about to launch into what was sure to be a lecture about material things never leading to truly happy existence. He really didn't need some old man he just met yesterday to tell him that. Vlad Masters had taught him perfectly well what it meant to have everything and nothing at the same time.

"If you hadn't noticed Professor Dumbledore, I don't own any clothes that actually fit me. They're all Dudley's hand-me-downs. I was kind of hoping to get some clothes of my own that were –you know- in my weight class?" The Headmaster's expression sagged a bit when he took a close look at what the ghost boy was wearing, "I also don't own that much stuff either, but it's never really bothered me too much before, so I don't think I'll go overboard with that," Harry admitted, "besides it's nice to have a bit of spending money on hand in case I really need something."

The professor didn't point out that Harry could have just asked him to pay for it like any other kid his age would have, which Harry was thankful for. He gave what the ghost boy could only consider to be a grandfatherly smile and stroked his beard.

"I suppose I can see your point my boy," he conceded, "I'll just have to watch out and keep you from spending too much."

Harry smiled somewhat gratefully. While it was true that he could keep track of his finances himself, he was honestly happy to have someone native to tell him whether something was a piece of junk or being sold at too high a price.

The three walked out of the vault and back onto the railway cart. Harry threw his hands up and enjoyed the ride coming back just as much as he did going up.

Back in the lobby Griphook excused himself then disappeared to go fetch the forms that Harry had asked for.

Dumbledore turned to the boy-who-lived with an inquisitive twinkle in his eye.

"Harry, may I ask why you're curious to see your financial history and records?"

The Hybrid shrugged, "I just found out about an account that I didn't even know existed. It kinda took me by surprise, so I wanted to learn what I could about it," he answered simply.

Griphook returned with a folder in hand and handed it to Harry.

"Thank you."

"Will that be all Mister Potter?" asked the goblin banker.

"Yes, thanks," Harry dismissed Griphook who nodded briskly and walked back behind the banking stations.

Harry flipped open the folder and skimmed through the many papers. His trust fund had been untouched, but his main vault had been drawn from…?

_What_?

Upon closer inspection it appeared that one _Albus _too many other names_ Dumbledore_ had made bi-monthly withdrawals from his parent's main vault since December 1981 and converted the amount to muggle money. Why on earth would he do-

Oh, those wretched _people!_ Harry honestly wasn't even sure they deserved to be called such anymore!

"Professor?" Harry asked evenly, but was truly trying to keep himself from spewing fire and drawing attention, "You didn't by any chance _pay _the Dursleys anything to keep me, did you?"

Dumbledore looked a bit concerned at the way Harry was gripping the folder, "Lily stated in her will that in the extreme circumstances, that you should find yourself in her sister's care, I or another anonymous witness would be responsible for sending checks to support your childhood growth and daily needs. The Wizarding government unfortunately has no precedent when it comes to magical orphans being sent to live with muggles, so James and Lily plotted one out themselves. They gave both witnesses access to their vault if and only if certain conditions were met. I'm sorry to be the one to say that they were, my boy," the Chief Warlock sighed, "It's become depressingly clear that almost none of that money has been used the way it was intended, has it?"

Harry let out a heavy breath and pressed his lips in a firm line.

"_No,_" he replied, "it hasn't."

Harry recalled all the wonderful toys and things that Dudley was spoiled with and was forced to wonder just how much of it was rightfully his. How many fancy vacations and outings did the Dursleys go on that were funded by what was meant to be money spent on clothes and books for _him_? Harry was willing to bet that at least half of those fancy dinners that he slaved over for company, while he had been forced to eat cold cuts from the fridge when everyone was asleep, were rightfully his. The Dursleys called him a burden, but he'd unknowingly been paying his fair share the whole time and they knew it!

Harry snapped the folder shut with unnecessary force and walked abruptly out of Gringotts. He heard Professor Dumbledore follow him, as he didn't turn around to check. He waited at the bottom of the white steps of the Goblin bank for the man to catch up.

Dumbledore returned to the boy's side and looked sadly at Harry for a moment. Neither really said anything for a while. Harry was too busy reigning in his anger, while Dumbledore was probably digesting new things about Harry's horrible childhood. They didn't protest when other wizards and witches bumped and shoved the two out of the way. They merely moved back to where they were originally standing when the passerby was gone.

It was Dumbledore who broke the silence at last.

"You mentioned new clothes earlier, my boy," said the man, "I recommend a shop in the Alley."

Harry looked up at the old wizard uncertainly. He was grateful for the offer, but he wasn't really sure he could trust the man's taste in fashion. He surveyed the people around him. He wasn't sure if he could put his faith in wizard taste at all to be honest.

"Thanks Professor," said Harry, "but if you wouldn't mind, I think I'll go to a more familiar shop in not-wizard London for my new wardrobe," he smiled timidly.

"If that's what you want Harry," Dumbledore allowed, "but when you shop for your school supplies later this summer you will need to buy a set of robes for your uniform," he informed the boy in front of him.

"Alright," accepted the ghost boy, grudgingly. Although in the back of his mind he was quietly making plans to get around this little rule.

* * *

The two made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron and non-magic London. The following couple of hours were spent with Harry and Dumbledore shopping in department stores and malls all over the city using the money that the Headmaster had leftover from the muggle studies final, which turned out to be quite a lot. Harry offered to pay the man back, but Dumbledore refused, saying the Dursleys should have already bought these clothes for him and the Hogwarts account already took out the money for the exam in the first place.

When Harry was finished, he could proudly boast at least eight new pairs of baggy jeans; seventeen t-shirts that were either white with a red circle, red with a white circle or just solid red or white in either short or long sleeves; and seven sweatshirts that were gray, black, or gray-blue.

The citizens of normal London stared at Dumbledore while Harry shopped, but they didn't gape nearly as much as they did when he was in his normal garb, so Harry considered that a win.

When they got back to they Leaky Cauldron they took a moment to unshrink the trunk which had been in Harry's pocket and shoved the purchases in there. Professor Dumbledore then shrank the trunk again and the two walked back to Diagon Alley.

* * *

"Usually children wait until they get their letter for this, but I think we can make an exception," Dumbledore muttered. They were once again standing at the Leaky Cauldron entrance to Diagon Alley, which had just closed behind them. Harry looked at the older wizard quizzically.

"Wanna clue me in on what you're talking about?" Harry inquired.

"Hm? Oh yes, Harry how would you feel about getting your wand today?" the headmaster offered, "normally children wait until their eleventh birthday to get it, but we're already here and your birthday is only a month off if I'm remembering correctly."

Harry grinned at the Professor, "I think that would be awesome."

Dumbledore gave a wry smile, "Shall I lead the way then?"

"Go ahead," said Harry.

Professor Dumbledore guided Harry through the chaotic crowds of Diagon Ally and ignored the street venders' loud offers. Eventually the two stood in front of a shop labeled 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.'.

Harry looked unimpressed at the peeling letters on the sign and paint.

"You know,' he remarked, "shopkeepers around here might attract just a little more business if they actually put effort into presentation."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore granted, "but Mr. Ollivander's reputation as a wand maker has simply become so great that the sign is merely there to indicate his location, not to entice customers."

Harry re-examined the store window and realized that the Professor was right. There were no other signs or captions that indicated sales or opportunities, nor did anything reach out and praise the business with enlarged review quotes from local publications. The only thing on display in the window was a wand placed delicately on a purple satin pillow.

"I guess," Harry permitted, "but that's really no excuse to let your shop go like that," he maintained. If a four-year old could keep a house for four spotless, then a full-grown man could maintain a small shop.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "I suppose you would be right in most cases, but once you see what getting your wand entails, I think you'll be more understanding of Mr. Ollivander's lax upkeep."

The Headmaster didn't elaborate any further and walked inside the store. Harry followed right behind him.

At first glance the tiny shop was empty, but Harry could feel another wizard's presence somewhere among the many shelves of the shop.

Said shelves resembled those found in libraries, but there were no books in the store, just stacks upon stacks of long, thin boxes one on top of the other.

Harry's eyes zeroed in on a subtle figure in a shadowed corner of the room. It came into the light to reveal an old man with flyaway hair and wide pale eyes that almost resembled the full moon. He seemed a little surprised at something and by the way he was hiding in that corner, Harry was willing to bet that the man enjoyed startling his customers. Harry grinned inwardly; he always had a way with ruining people's plans by complete accident. It was nice to know that he still had it.

"Ah, yes Mr. Potter I thought I'd be seeing you soon," Mr. Ollivander greeted.

Harry panicked for a moment, "How do you know who I am?" he demanded. He wasn't worried when he told the goblins about his name because they looked professional enough to avoid making a scene and Dumbledore had said they were polite.

"I sold your mother her wand and your father his. You look like them very much you know," he answered.

Harry was still a little uncomfortable with another person knowing about him.

"You wouldn't mind keeping this to yourself would you? That you saw me here today," Harry requested hopefully.

"Of course. I don't see why not," Garrick agreed, "Now which is your wand arm?"

"Uh," Harry wasn't sure how to answer that. He could wield weapons in both hands with equal skill, but he'd never even picked up a weapon in this life, so he wasn't sure how that talent held up. He was right-handed when it came to writing though so he could go with that.

"Right," he answered after much deliberation. The wand maker eyed him for a moment, probably wondering why it took him so long for such an easy question. Harry flushed; the guy probably thought he was an idiot now.

He didn't stare for long. Instead he took a tape measure and started to measure the length of his arms and legs. Then the man strolled to one of the shelves and pulled out one of the boxes and opened it up to take out the wand inside.

All the while the tape measure had taken up a life of its own and proceeded to measure the most ridiculous things about the boy-who-lived-half-way. It couldn't have been doing it for any reason either as Mr. Ollivander was not paying attention to the measurements that it was taking at all, making the whole process pointless.

"Here we go Mr. Potter try this one. Beech-wood and Dragon heartstring; give it a wave," he ordered. Harry obeyed, feeling a little weird for doing so.

Right in the middle of his swing, the craftsman yanked the wand away and replaced it with another. This process continued until there was a rather impressive pile of wands next to the ghost boy and he could now understand perfectly why the man's shop was always in such disrepair.

"Tricky customer eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere- I wonder, now- yes, why not- unusual combination- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple," the wand maker handed the wand to Harry who waved his hand for what felt like the hundredth time.

It felt different that time, but it didn't feel _right_.

A subtle wind raced around the room and Ollivander fixed his scrutinizing gaze between the wand and the boy.

"So you felt a connection with that wand then?"

"…maybe," Harry admitted, he couldn't say it was a strong one though.

"But it doesn't feel _quite_ right does it?" Mr. Ollivander probed further.

"No, it doesn't," Harry answered honestly.

"Hmm…curious," the craftsman swept to the back of the shop and disappeared from view for a few moments. He came back carrying another box. The wand he pulled out of it was a finished black with white rune work etched into the handle.

"Try this one," Ollivander handed the wand to Harry.

Once the wand touched Harry's fingertip's the boy felt a surge of energy race through his entire being. He instinctively raised the wand into the air without any of the shame he had during all of his last tries and the room was filled with sparks of white, blue and green.

"Oh bravo! Bravo! Very good, very good! But I must say that it is _most curious_," remarked the shopkeeper airily. Harry turned and handed the wand back to the man to wrap up for purchase.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Harry.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold Mr. Potter," the craftsman stated, "Every single wand. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave two other feathers. One was inside of that holly brother wand that you had a small affinity for and its other brother- well its other brother was carved with the same wood from the same tree and it was the very wand that gave you that scar…"

However, Mr. Ollivander's attempt at being ominous was thwarted when he could not locate said scar at first glance.

He did notice that a glamoured Dumbledore was giving him an inquisitive look though.

"I got the third feather after the war with You-Know-Who," Garrick answered Dumbledore's silent question, "It would seem that your pet phoenix left its feathers lying around after it apparated and Hagrid donated one to me as he believed that I wouldn't use it for something unscrupulous," Mr. Ollivander shrugged, "don't think for a moment that I can't see through that glamour Professor Dumbledore."

The Headmaster for his part just looked mollified about the feather issue.

"I wouldn't dream of insulting your skills Garrick," replied the Professor, not surprised in the least that the wand smith had seen through his ruse.

"So what wood was it made of? You never said specifically," Harry accepted his wrapped up wand from the shopkeeper.

"It's yew, eleven inches to be exact; very resilient," Mr. Ollivander answered.

"I don't know much about wood, but isn't yew lighter?" Dumbledore asked.

"Normally yes," admitted the wand smith, "but I polished and painted this one black myself. It never seemed… complete without it. Wands are very particular things, they are," he trailed off airily.

His full moon eyes trailed along the box in Harry's hands. It was an affectionate gaze that Harry had often seen Tucker give to his PDA. That usually meant things were about to get awkward for him and Sam, so Harry just paid the man and shuffled hurriedly out of the shop. Dumbledore seemed to get a similar vibe and followed suit. Harry doubted the older wizard had ever met Tucker though.

Maybe the Professor was just more familiar with Mr. Ollivander's brand of creepy?

"Shall we find something to eat then?" suggested Professor Dumbledore, easily shrugging off the eerie atmosphere of the shop they just left. Or at least he seemed to.

Harry noticed that the man's shoulders were still a bit tense and his smile didn't exactly reach his eyes. His eyes didn't seem to twinkle either, like they usually did when he was really amused or happy.

The ghost boy considered the way the headmaster's eyes trailed uncertainly at the package in his hand.

"Does it bother you, sir?" Harry furrowed his brows.

"What do you mean Harry?" answered Dumbledore carefully.

"My wand," he specified, "it's like Voldemort's. Does that bother you?" his green eyes searched the older man's blue ones.

The older wizard sighed, "I must admit that it caught me off guard that you would have a wand so similar to his," he confessed, "yes, it is a bit alarming."

Harry looked down at his feet.

"Harry look at me," Professor Dumbledore demanded. He turned the boy's chin up to face his gaze.

"The wand may choose the wizard, but it's the wizard who decides what to do with the wand," Dumbledore said firmly, "Voldemort's choices were his own; and so are yours. A wizard's wand is only an extension of his own will and magic. Remember that!" ordered the Chief Warlock.

The ghost boy felt the tension melt from his body. Harry beamed and swept the old man in a tight embrace.

"I know," Harry divulged, "but people will almost always make better choices when they know someone has faith in them."

Dumbledore smiled gently and placed a hand on the youth's back.

"Perhaps," he allowed.

Harry let go and looked back at the Professor.

"So, what were you saying about dinner? I'm starved!" He whined comically.

The twinkle was back and Dumbledore raised a finger in thought.

"I happen to know a shop in the alley that that makes absolutely fantastic ice cream," suggested the old man.

Harry grinned toothily, "That sounds an awful lot like desert to me."

"True," conceded the old eccentric, "but I won't tell anyone if you won't."

"My lips are sealed."

And with that, the odd pair made their way down to Florean Flortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

* * *

**I don't own Sephora obviously, but the brand existed in the 90's so I used it. I'm not sure if the shop in London was set up yet though.**

**Stan Shunpike makes an appearance, Yay!**

**I was originally just gonna give Darry the Holly wand and go with it, but I read the description for yew wands in wand lore on Pottermore and it just fit Darry SO much better.**

_"Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death, which might, of course, be said of all wands; and yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the spheres of duelling and all curses._

_However, it is untrue to say (as those unlearned in wandlore often do) that those who use yew wands are more likely to be attracted to the Dark Arts than another. The witch or wizard best suited to a yew wand might equally prove a fierce protector of others._

_Wands hewn from these most long-lived trees have been found in the possession of heroes quite as often as of villains. Where wizards have been buried with wands of yew, the wand generally sprouts into a tree guarding the dead owner's grave. What is certain is that the yew wand never chooses either a mediocre or a timid owner."_

_**Read and Review**_


	10. Welcome to Hogwarts, Bring a Coat Please

**Miss me?**

**Still looking for a new name for this fic, suggestions are welcome.**

* * *

The sun peeked in from a modest sized window into Harry's guest room and filled the room with daylight. The sole occupant didn't seem to care though, as he was laid back first on his bed and stared, half awake, at the ceiling. He didn't really feel like getting up yet and he didn't really have any way to figure out what time it was since wizards didn't believe in alarm clocks. He could tell by the shadows of the room that it was still pretty early, but that was about it.

He swept his tired eyes over the hotel room that he had been staying in for the past couple of days. It was littered with all sorts of things he had bought at Diagon Alley. A pile of books from 'Flourish and Blotts' were stacked on the dresser across the room, including titles like _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_, the _Ingredient Encyclopedia_, _Extreme Incantations_, _A Compendium of Common Curses and their Counter Actions_, _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts_, _Book of Spells_ by Miranda Goshawk,_ Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks_, _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery, Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_,_ Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_,_ Important Modern Magical Discoveries, Ancient Law_,_ Extraordinary Trials in History_,_ Illegal Compendium 202_, _The Dark Arts: A legal Compendium_ and _Law and Literature_.

Harry was a bit shocked when he first realized how many books he bought and then even more horrified when he realized that he totally intended on reading _every single one of them_.

What _happened _to him?!

He took a little bit of comfort in the totally awesome telescope that he bought at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. At least that part about him hadn't changed.

He had wanted to buy a broomstick too, but Professor Dumbledore had insisted that first year students were not allowed to bring their own brooms to school. The fact that Harry was supposed to live there year round didn't affect the headmaster's judgment in the slightest. He spent the rest of that afternoon silently sulking.

He wasn't _too_ sulky to buy himself some new luggage to put all of his stuff in though. The transfigured backpack was starting to get a little tight. He found a shop called 'Trunks and Travels' that specialized in heavy baggage. Harry was able to find himself a trunk that could both shrink at the tap of his wand, but had a charm to make it "bigger on the inside", which he could adjust. (Harry asked the clerk if they had any police boxes in stock, but the guy just stared at him like he was mad) The professional anti-theft charms were a really nice touch too. After all, he figured, if he was gonna pay that much for a trunk he might as well get all the bells and whistles.

Still all of his shiny new stuff didn't make him any less lazy that morning. Besides he was still kind of recuperating that duplicate he sent out last night.

* * *

It had taken forever to get a moment alone from Professor Dumbledore, but while in one of the shops Harry had excused himself to go to the bathroom and finally got some time to himself. When he got there (he was ecstatic to find that wizards used indoor plumbing, despite their refusal to catch up to the rest of the twentieth century) he entered one of the stalls and invisibly duplicated a copy that appeared in another one. The duplicate transformed into Danny Fenton and the two went their separate ways, but not before Harry handed 'Danny' a small satchel of money.

Harry returned to Dumbledore, while Danny walked out of the shop mostly unnoticed, but since Danny was dressed entirely in muggle attire from a century or two in the future he still caught a few eyes. It wasn't like he was wearing some hover ring belt or anything (though he did live to see that trend), it was just that his pants were made of a material that hadn't been synthesized yet and his shirt was a graphic Tee of a concept that Wizards were even more confused with than usual.

_Just who _were_ the 'Lazer Banshees'? And how come we've never heard of the places they're touring?_

Danny shrugged off the looks as he walked, but sent a roguish grin to the young witches who were looking his way. A couple of them rolled their eyes, but the rest of them blushed and waved back.

Aw yeah, puberty had been kind to Danny Fenton.

He promptly backed off though when a couple witch's boyfriends started giving him the eye. He raised his hands in surrender and gave a nervous smile, which caused a few of the witches to giggle and the men to become even more irate. He booked it then because a) He left his wand with Harry and was therefore 'powerless' b) should he decide _not_ to be powerless and beat the crap out of a wizard in a public place, even in self defense, he'd probably get arrested for violence or some other rot. He doubted this duplicated form had enough power to serve a prison term. He also didn't technically exist, so that was a problem too…

Danny brushed past the crowds of Diagon Alley and made it to his destination: Gringotts Bank. The young adult made his way up the white steps and into the luxurious lobby of the bank. Danny didn't see Bonok on duty so he just stood in the shortest line and waited his turn.

When he arrived at the front he looked the new goblin straight in the eye.

"I want to open a new account under my name please," he demanded curtly.

The banker looked at him with interest in his sharp beady eyes, but it was a little diluted with disdain and a sneer.

"And what name would I put this under?" He asked disinterestedly.

"Before I do any business with you I need to know your name," Danny ordered strictly, "I won't hand just any stranger my money."

The goblin looked at him down his long sharp nose and pushed his reading glasses down a bit.

"My name is Benricke and I will handle your new account if that is satisfactory," the banker's dark eyes focused sharply on him as if he was measuring him up.

Danny raised a brow, "I can't really say if you're satisfactory _now_. I just met you. If I still trust you by the end of this then you can keep handling my account and maybe any other ones I make."

Benricke smirked and dipped his head, "That is acceptable. So, will you tell me your name then?"

Danny grinned back easily, "Danny Fenton," He looked behind him to see impatient witches and wizards groaning and glaring at him, "Do you have a place we could discuss the details privately?"

Benricke nodded and closed his station at the counter, which ticked off more than a few customers. The banker led the young adult to an office room in the back where they discussed interest rates, security measures and molded the man a key. Benricke was a bit unimpressed with the initial deposit, but Danny just waved it off saying that everything starts somewhere. Danny walked out of the office an hour and a half later with a folder containing the specifics of his new account and a key to his vault.

Danny was a bit exhausted, even though all he did was debate with a Goblin over money (which is actually a vicious challenge in itself. Never mind, his exhaustion was completely justified), he felt like he hadn't slept for days. It actually made sense though, when he considered that this was the longest that he held a duplicate of himself in this lifetime.

He needed to get back to Harry fast. He couldn't disappear now, not when he was in possession of the only key and info on the new account. He looked inward and reached out for the original Harry. He couldn't talk to him or anything, but all copies were able of keeping track of each other and the original instinctively. It was what made them so handy in battle.

It seemed like Harry was back at the Leaky Cauldron now. Danny almost whimpered, he didn't have a wand he'd have to use his powers for the wall. He was so tired!

_Oh well, here we go…_

* * *

Harry groaned. It had taken almost everything he had to keep that duplicate going. He was lucky that he didn't poof out of existence when Danny left the range for Harry to keep giving him energy. In a last-minute choice Harry gave almost all of his energy to the clone so it would be able to sustain itself longer. He was glad he did or else Danny might have vanished in the middle of that meeting with Benricke.

Harry didn't need as much energy to shop, he figured. That was _probably_ why he didn't argue as much as he should have when Dumbledore had forbidden him from getting a broomstick now that he thought about it.

Feh, lucky Dumbledore… bet he didn't even realize how handicapped his debate partner was. He actually hoped he didn't.

Harry's eyes started to flutter closed and the boy almost fell back asleep when there was a knock on his door.

"Harry?" asked the muffled voice of Professor Dumbledore.

The ghost boy groaned loudly in response.

"Good you're up," the old man continued, "I'll be waiting downstairs with breakfast. Try not to take too long."

Harry grumbled inarticulately back.

"You do that Harry," the ghost child could hear the man's footsteps get further away from his door.

The boy-who-lived-halfway sighed and tumbled awkwardly out of the pub bed. He trudged over to his trunk and pulled on a red t-shirt and jeans and pulled out a brush to comb his once again short hair. He had found a Barber in the Alley that could make his hair look like it did when he was this young the first time. He also pulled out a bottle and squeezed some of the contents onto his hand. He then rubbed the hand over his scar and the mark disappeared from view even better than when he had used the cover up.

He got the bottle at Madame Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions. He actually went there as Danny on Monday so the woman wouldn't see his scar. He doubted he would be able to hide it from a professional in the business at hiding imperfections.

He pulled the brush through his hair one more time in front of the mirror.

"So are you trying to _refine_ the bed-head look?"

Harry glowered at the mirror, which he had the unpleasant surprise of learning that it could talk. The ravenette scoffed.

"My hair looks fine, thank you," the mirror had absolutely no appreciation for the wild look.

"Uh huh," the looking-glass bit back sarcastically.

Harry huffed, and slipped his shoes on. There was absolutely no point arguing with a lippy piece of furniture. He didn't care how much the Wizarding World resembled a Grimm's Fairy tale either. No reflective surface had the power to deduce what _everyone_ thought would be the fairest of them all, that was psychologically impossible.

He left his room and walked down to the main parlor of the pub to see the headmaster waiting for him with two bowels of oatmeal. Harry smiled tiredly and waved for the old man to see. When he caught the elder wizard's eye he made his way to the table and flopped gracelessly into the seat.

"I managed to order something on the menu that wasn't soup," said Dumbledore brightly. The-boy-who-half-lived smiled a bit before grabbing his spoon and digging into his food in a way that would have made Jack Fenton proud. Nobody taught him table manners in this lifetime after all, Harry justified with himself.

Dumbledore watched in fascination for a moment before picking up his own spoon and eating, himself.

At the pace Harry was going it didn't take long at all to finish his bowel, so the boy grabbed a napkin to wipe his face and remove all evidence of the oatful slaughter he just committed. The professor simply ignored the senseless oat carnage in front of him. Harry trusted the man enough by now not to share what he had seen with anyone else.

"We'll be going back to Hogwarts today," revealed the wizard, "The Express will be leaving Hogsmeade station this afternoon and all the students will have left the castle by twelve."

"How are we going to get there?" asked Harry. He heard that the castle was somewhere in Scotland, which was quite a distance from London.

"Not to worry, just go upstairs and pack yourself back up. I let you sleep in a little longer today; you looked very exhausted last night," Dumbledore told him, "was there anything you wanted to tell me?"

Harry fidgeted a little under the scrutinizing gaze. He wanted to scream; he had gotten so good at lying over the years and this old geezer made him feel like he was a fumbling fourteen year old again. The ghost boy knew the truth wasn't an option though, so he needed to think of another issue like _right now_.

How could he keep the professor in the dark about Danny Fenton…?

Think

Think

Think

AHA!

"Actually yeah, there was something I was a little worried about," admitted the ten-year old, "see I have this friend down at Privet Drive. He was the only friend I had there and I think he might be worried about me."

"I'm sure you can send this friend of yours a letter to let him know you're alright," Dumbledore assured kindly.

"That would work if he had a mailing address or…you know… a house, but Danny's uhm… special," Harry admitted.

Dumbledore was paying close attention now, "Doesn't this boy have parents or family to take care of him? Where does this child live?"

"His parents died," Harry said ruefully, "it's one of the things we have in common, except he's kinda dead too."

Dumbledore's brows shot up to his hairline, "Harry… is Danny a ghost?"

"I think so. He can float and walk through walls and stuff, which is pretty neat," said Harry. It was also great for pranking his big pig cousin, he smirked inwardly.

The professor looked at the boy seriously, "Harry, does anyone else know about your friend Danny?"

Harry nodded furiously, "no sir, Danny hates most of the neighborhood. He said it was really boring so he doesn't show himself to anyone else there. He only talked to me when I was spending one of the weekends hiding from Dudley. We've been friends ever since," Harry was impressed with himself at the little story he'd made up in two seconds flat. Looking good so far.

"You're the only one who can see Danny you say?" Maybe he spoke too soon. He would rather Dumbledore didn't believe that Phantom was an imaginary friend.

"He's real," Harry insisted, "I can't prove it to you right now obviously, but Danny has this weird thing about being able to find me where ever I go, so all I wanna know is if Danny would have any trouble getting past Hogwarts security."

Dumbledore stroked his white beard in contemplation, "If your friend is truly a ghost and he means no harm to anyone on the grounds, then there should be no reason for Danny to have trouble getting in, if he can find Hogwarts, that is," The man still looked skeptical, but Harry couldn't really do anything about that at the moment without drawing a busload of attention.

"You'd be surprised what Phantom is capable of," at Dumbledore's confused face Harry explained, "It's his last name. He chose it after he died," the ghost child flushed.

"Strange," Dumbledore remarked, "ghosts don't usually change after death as they are merely an imprint of the person they once were."

_Well that's a really depressing way to look at it_.

"Phantom's always been kind of odd," Harry commented. At least that was what everyone he had ever met told him, "but you said I could keep in touch with people with mail earlier?"

"I did," confirmed the headmaster, "was there someone else you wanted to keep in touch with?"

"Yeah, he's a librarian at the Little Whinging Public Library, Mr. Henry Luvre," the ghost boy specified, "He was the only _living_ person that really cared about me. He was the only one who went out of his way to help me and he's probably the only one who'll miss me," Harry muttered darkly, "I usually go visit the library after school, but he's probably worried since I didn't show up since Monday."

"Mr. Luvre sounds like a very good man, I'm sorry to say that I don't know of way to contact him right now, but once we get to Hogwarts we can send a letter via owl which can be transferred to muggle mail. Do you know his address?" asked the older wizard, while absently swirling his spoon against his empty bowel.

The ten-year old nodded affirmatively, "Yeah, I have his phone number too. I think he wanted to have someone I could go to if the Dursleys ever became too much to handle," he thought out loud.

"Well you are free to send him a letter if you wish and he can even write back, but I'm afraid electronics don't work at Hogwarts," Harry blanched for a fraction of a second before schooling his features again. He was about to suggest that he go outside and find a payphone to use before they left, but the man in front of him seemed to be completely unfamiliar with the concept and he really just didn't feel like explaining how it worked to the guy.

"I see," he said evenly, "Well, thanks for understanding anyway Professor. I've been really worried about this for a while now," or at least he should have been, he thought self depreciatingly. He really should have been worried about how he would explain Phantom's presence at the school. A glowing kid in a HAZMAT suit was kind of hard to miss when he wasn't invisible.

He felt even guiltier for forgetting all about Mr. Luvre. The guy had been his only friend for years and Harry had forgotten all about him and their deal, just because some old guy came and said he could teach him some magic tricks. Harry couldn't feel any guilt for lying to Dumbledore about the copy anymore, as he was too busy feeling like dirt for almost abandoning a friend.

"It's not a crime to be distracted by something out of your control Harry," said the Chief Warlock, who could apparently guess where his mind had turned to. Harry didn't sense any proby-feelings on his brain so he figured the Professor was just as good at reading people's outward appearances as he was at their inner thoughts.

"This was all very sudden and I'm sure Mr. Luvre will understand your absence once you tell him. He sounds more like he would be worried about your well being than he would be your punctuality," Dumbledore added, "for now just worry about getting your things together so we can get back to school. Meet me at the bottom of the staircase when you're ready. "

"I guess," Harry agreed. Dumbledore was right and there was really nothing he could do about it right now. He scooted out of his chair and walked back up to his room to pack his things.

Harry waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs for his chaperone to come down and lead the way. He mostly passed the time by people watching, which he admitted was much more interesting when the watched had magical powers to throw at each other. Tom had thrown out two drunken wizards already for sloppy drunken morning bar dueling. In hindsight Harry wasn't really sure which disgusted the bar owner more, the clearly wasted demeanor of the bar patrons or the shoddy spell casting that even a newbie like Harry could tell was ill done for adult wizards.

After all, one of them had conjured a small pink elephant, which everyone was sure was completely unintentional.

He also got the pleasure of watching a lazy witch spell her spoon to stir her tea for her, an oblivious wizard swallow a beetle (though that honestly could have been an ingredient in the soup), and a teenage couple try to make out discreetly and fail epically before the professor finally came down the stairs where they had agreed to meet earlier.

"Forgive me Harry," apologized the old man, "but I had to trim my beard. Minerva always threatens to cut it off if I don't keep it to her standards," he trailed off.

"Who's she? If you don't mind my asking that is," asked Harry curiously.

"Not at all my boy. Minerva McGonagall is a close friend of mine and the Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, she also happens to be the Deputy Head Mistress and head of Gryffindor House," said Dumbledore fondly.

The ghost boy had no idea what Gryffindor was, but kept it tucked in his mind for later. Right now he wanted to get going.

"So how are we going to get all the way to Scotland by lunch?" Harry asked reasonably. He should have known to ignore reason by now after all these years, but the boy was stubborn to let go of such silly habits.

"By Floo of course," Professor Dumbledore smiled at the ghost boy.

"By getting sick?" Harry blinked.

The Chief Warlock ignored the boy's befuddled state and gestured for the child to follow.

They walked into a private parlor that Dumbledore had rented for the next hour. Harry looked around the room; it was nothing really special. There was a desk and a chair on each side and a fireplace to keep the room warm, but the boy didn't see anything that indicated travel. He searched Dumbledore with an inquiring gaze.

"Are we waiting for someone," Harry reached, he was kind of clueless at that point and it was kind of obvious that the old man was messing with him.

"No," answered the old wizard glibly, "any more guesses," if Harry didn't know any better he would say that the twinkle in that man's eyes were _taunting_ him.

"I'm out," he pouted, "So how will the flu take us to Hogwarts?"

"Not flu, _floo_."

"You know I can't actually hear spelling right?" Harry felt obligated to ask, "I assume that you're saying something different by the way you said it, but I just thought I'd run that by you."

"Hmm," Dumbledore rubbed his chin, "I have yet to meet someone who actually _can _hear spelling," he mused. Harry wondered absently if the Ghostwriter could, he never asked, but he wouldn't have been surprised.

"But that is a quest for another time I suppose. For now Harry I want you to turn your attention to the shelf above the fireplace," the headmaster steered them both back on track, "you should see a pot."

Harry nodded when his eyes zeroed in on the innocuous flowerpot with no flowers.

"There should be floo powder inside the pot, scoop yourself up a handful for yourself," instructed the older wizard, "not too much now, we don't need to waste any falling on the floor now. Just enough to safely grasp please."

"Okay," Harry did as the man instructed and stood awkwardly holding dirt in his hands waiting for the next order. He idly wondered if Dumbledore would order him to throw it on the floor or something and they'd all vanish in a puff of smoke like those guys in Vegas.

"Now listen carefully," warned the Professor, uncharacteristically stern, "I want you to throw that powder, _floo powder_, into the fire. It will turn a bright green. Then you will walk into that fire- Don't worry! It won't hurt- and say out loud, very clearly where you want to go. In this case we'll be saying 'Headmaster Dumbledore's Office' followed by my password, which is 'Orange pop'. Not all places have passwords, but Hogwarts fireplaces do for the sake of security. Do you understand Harry?"

Harry looked down at his closed fist, which contained the powder and looked to the fireplace.

"Only one way to find out I guess," he said.

Harry threw the floo powder into the fire, which erupted into a roaring bright green flame. He was a little surprised by how much it reminded him of Skulker's hair before he stepped into the flames and recited his destination. He could vaguely hear Professor Dumbledore telling him to keep his limbs tucked in closed before he felt the floor drop out from under him and he was swept away.

* * *

Harry wouldn't have closed his eyes that moment for anything. A vast network of fireplaces opened up before him, each was like a window into another home or business that he didn't get to get a good look at before he was rushed into one of them and pushed out another chimney and landing face first on a polished wooden floor.

"…ow," the ghost boy voiced to no one in particular.

A familiar melodious trill answered him and Harry looked up to see Fawkes standing on a perch in the room he had just entered. The fiery bird cocked his head to the side and examined the odd site in front of him before deciding that he had evidently seen weirder and went back to grooming itself.

Harry picked himself off the floor and was about to examine Dumbledore's office when the fire behind him roared again and the headmaster himself walked out.

"I trust your trip was only mildly dizzying," greeted the old man.

"I guess," Answered the ten-year old, "my landing needs work though," he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

"That's the spirit," applauded the professor, "many witches and wizards who take their first floo often refuse to do it again for at least another month or two until they can't avoid it any longer."

Harry shrugged. Technus had shoved him in more dizzying washing machines than that little chimney adventure. The rinse cycles were especially harsh.

"So what now?" asked the ravenette.

"Now you can stop hiding your scar," said Dumbledore plainly. The headmaster shed his own disguise, "I can fully understand your desire not to draw attention to yourself, but you should never feel the need to hide who you are at Hogwarts. Ever," The elder wizard said passionately. The twinkle in his eye had turned sharper somehow.

Harry nodded a little reluctantly and pulled his shrunken trunk from his pocket. He grabbed his wand from his dragon hide holster and tapped the lock silently thinking his password.

'_Morgan Fenton'_

The lock snapped open and grew to its original size and Harry rummaged through his trunk. He pulled out a bottle labeled 'Conceal remover special'. According to the woman at the shop, this solution was the only stuff around that could make his scar visible again.

Harry applied the solution to his forehead and lo and behold his famous scar was now totally visible again. Harry wasn't really sure whether to be happy to see it or not, but he trusted the professor and let it stay.

He put his stuff away then turned to Dumbledore.

"Do I look enough like myself now?"

He wasn't really sure if Professor Dumbledore man was immune, ignored or just didn't understand the subject of sarcasm because the old man just beamed.

"You look just like Harry Potter."

"Thanks, I try," Harry deadpanned.

"You succeed," replied Dumbledore, "now I'm going to call up the permanent residents of the castle. Would you mind standing up there so they can't see you when they come in."

The man pointed to the area behind his desk where four sets of stairs resided. Two on each side of the desk; one would go up, the other down. Each led up or down half a level to another landing. Harry walked up to the upper landing that he was directed to and found himself in a small study. He was startled when the bookcases on the landing formed a barrier blocking his view of the lower office.

"Feel free to read whatever tickles your fancy," The muffled voice of Dumbledore told him, "The shelves will move out of the way when I'm ready to introduce you!"

Harry raised a brow. _Someone's excited…_

The ghost boy turned his attention to the texts in front of him and settled on one labeled "An Introduction to Wizard Law for Muggleborns by Albus Dumbledore". It would help to know the law around here before Murphy's Law forced him to break it.

* * *

Dumbledore benignly gazed at the seven adults in his office. He trusted his staff, but he believed it was important to tell them just how important this was before he revealed Harry.

"Albus," McGonagall broke the silence, "I would have hoped you would have taken care of _other_ business first before calling a summer staff meeting," her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Professors Trelawny and Sprout looked at the two curiously. Trelawny appeared to be consulting her inner eye for an answer, while Pomona just looked peeved to be out of the loop again, which was common when it came to the Deputy Headmistress and Headmaster.

Madams Pince and Pomfrey didn't seem to care and waited patiently to be addressed. Filch just shot Hagrid dirty looks for muddying up the carpet, while Hagrid looked appropriately apologetic.

"I assure you Minerva that I haven't shoved anything to the wayside, in fact I called you all here today to inform you of a new resident of Hogwarts," the headmaster explained patiently.

"Oh, Albus!" Sprout gushed, "does this mean you found a defense against the dark arts teacher for the year?"

"Not yet I'm afraid," the elder wizard stoked his beard; he would have to get on that though. Professor Quirrel, the old Muggle studies teacher had sent in an application. Maybe he'd give the poor boy a chance.

"It wouldn't happen to be a new History of Magic teacher would it?" Madam Pomfrey asked in a rare display of disapproval for a fellow staff member.

Dumbledore let out a long-suffering sigh, "Professor Binns had seniority and Tenure when he was alive. It's only gotten more ironclad in death. No the new resident of Hogwarts will not be a teacher, but a student."

The ensuing noise was completely expected.

"Headmaster you can't be serious!"

"I clean after those brats nine months a year! I won't be wiping some brat's nose on my vacation too!"

"This is completely unheard of!"

"Doesn't he have somewhere else to go?!"

Meanwhile Professor McGonagal pressed her lips in a thin line, "I see. So that's what you've decided."

Professor Sprout swiveled her head to the transfiguration mistress.

"You knew about this?"

"I didn't know he would be staying here, if that's what you're asking," answered the head of Gryffindor house, "but I was made aware on Saturday that it was possible that a boy was no longer safe living with his relatives."

"As sad as that is to hear, when has that been our responsibility?" Madam Pince asked reasonably, "Hogwarts is a school, not child services."

"In most cases you'd be right Irma," said Albus, "but I'm afraid that there are more issues at hand than child abuse alone. The child in question is a target for dark wizards and sympathizers of Voldemort," he allowed the staff a moment to wince at the name, "the house he used to reside in was supposed to be kept safe with certain protections, however it's recently come to my attention that those safeguards have become powerless. He has no other living family and he still needs protection from any one who would try to carry out Voldemort's will."

"Albus," Pomona asked carefully, "What boy could possibly garner that much attention from dark wizards?"

"You must promise not to share what I have revealed to you to anyone who is not in this office at this moment," ordered Dumbledore, "No one else must know about this, for the sake of the boy's safety!"

Minerva looked around the room at the rest of the staff who looked dubious and sighed.

"As the only other person here who does know the boy's identity, I can safely say that the Headmaster's precautions are completely acceptable. You have my word Albus."

Hagrid looked a bit excited, "If it's who I think it is, then I can un'erstand the fuss. Haven't seen the lad in years! You can coun' on me too professor!"

"Well, he'll have the best medical care in Scotland as long as he's here," Madam Pomfrey huffed, "I won't endanger this boy, a proper mediwitch would never dream of harming those under her care."

"I suppose I promise as well," said Madam Pince, "but if that child damages my books then Deatheaters will be the last of his worries!" she hissed.

Filch stared at the woman admiringly for a moment, "Agh, I'll keep it under wraps, that doesn't mean I'll be his servant all holiday!"

Trelawny sighed dramatically, "I can foresee his end already," almost everyone had to restrain themselves from rolling their eyes, "but I will do my part to keep him safe for the time he has left."

After she got her right eye to stop twitching, Pomona sighed, "I'll keep my mouth shut too Albus, just please tell us, who is he?"

The Headmaster's eyes held a mischievous twinkle in that moment.

"Who else?" asked the elder Professor, "Harry Potter, The–boy-who-lived of course."

The bookshelves on the upper landing behind Dumbledore's desk rearranged themselves to reveal a black-haired ten-year-old sitting in a high-backed armchair reading. The boy blinked once and looked up at the crowded office.

"…Hi?"

* * *

Harry had long stopped paying attention to the world around him as he continued to read more and more basics of Wizard Law. He was just getting to the Statute of Secrecy when the bookcases pulled back to show seven strange people he had never met gawking at him like a circus sideshow.

"…Hi?" what else was he suppose to say; aside from the ten snide remarks about staring and rudeness that he held back, of course.

The others evidently had no idea what to say either.

"Harry these are the other permanent residents of Hogwarts," the Headmaster ignored the awkward silence as per usual, "their duties or their personal motivations keep them lodged at the castle all year round, unlike the rest of the staff who only reside here during the school year. This is Hagrid,"

A huge bearded man walked up to Harry and shook his hand along with the rest of him.

"It's good ta see ya again Harry! It's been a while, last time I saw ya you were a baby, so ya prob'ly don't remember!" the man was absolutely ecstatic.

"It's almost impossible to forget about a beard like that," Harry grinned, "Or about their first time flying on a motorcycle," he scratched his cheek. Hagrid looked like he would burst into tears.

"You shouldn't be able to remember that far back," Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes, "No one should remember that far back."

Harry shrugged, sometimes admitting ignorance was better than fumbling for a flimsy excuse.

"My memory goes pretty far back… unless I've lost something. Then it's completely useless," he furrowed his brows in faux frustration.

Several of the adults chuckled and even Professor McGonagall's lip twitched upward.

"Well if you take to magic as well as your parents, then you should have no problem at all here at the castle. My name is Professor Sprout," the squat woman walked over and shook the ravenette's hand.

A woman covered in shawls swept over and took his hand, but didn't shake it. Her glasses magnified her eyes and made her look like a bug. She searched his palm intensely for something that Harry was clueless to.

"You have the most intriguing lifeline I have ever examined!"

Harry quickly snatched his hand back.

"Hehe… thanks, who are you again?"

"Professor Sybill Trelawny, dear I look forward to seeing you in my class in third year."

Harry nodded nervously. That was not happening.

Harry looked around the room almost desperately and settled on the grumpy guy in the corner.

"Name's Filch," a gruff, but bony man growled, "and if you're anything like you're father then you and me'll get to know each other very soon," the man glared and Harry got the feeling he didn't want to get to know Mr. Filch the same way his Father had.

"If it's not too much to ask, what do you do at Hogwarts Mr. Filch?" carefully inquired Harry; the man looked totally at ease with the idea of stabbing someone in their sleep if they ticked him off just enough and the ghost child really didn't feel like going through that song and dance.

"I'm the grounds keeper, so keep your grubby little fingers to yourself and off school property!"

Harry bit back the remark that it would be impossible _not _to touch school property. The balding man before him didn't seem like the funny joke around kind of guy.

"Loud and clear," he kept his face stern as he didn't want this man to think he wasn't taking him seriously.

Filch just grumbled and went back to petting his cat. Harry ignored the animal as it gave off an aura that was just as unpleasant as its owner's. He turned his attention to a woman who gave off the distinct impression of a vulture.

"What do you do at Hogwarts?" the ghost boy asked casually.

The woman looked down her sharp nose, "I'm Madam Pince, the Librarian. If you take the utmost care of my books then we won't have a problem."

The ravenette grinned, "That's great! I spent most of my childhood at the Little Whinging Library."

The librarian stared almost condescendingly at the ten-year old.

"Is that so," the woman sniffed, "I think you'll find that the Hogwarts Library has a noticeably higher standard than any _public_ library you've been to."

Harry blinked. He suddenly had the strongest urge to write to Mr. Luvre…

"Madam Pince just takes pride in her work Mr. Potter," a much kinder voice cut in. A grey haired witch wearing an old fashion medical uniform strolled over, "As do I. My name is Madam Pomfrey and should you be injured or ill, I expect you to march yourself straight to the Hospital wing and into my care."

"Got it," Harry had no idea where any of that was, but he assumed that a tour was in his future.

"Right," the tall witch in the green robes cleared her throat, "If you didn't know already my name is Professor McGonagall and now that introductions are out of the way I believe we have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Quite right," Professor Dumbledore agreed, "thank you for agreeing to this everyone, you can go back to your earlier business."

Everyone but Professor McGonagall made their way out of the Headmaster's office.

Hagrid, who was the last to leave called out, "'Oy Harry feel free to stop by my hut whenever you 'ave the time!" he waved before he ducked down the archway leading out.

When everyone else was gone Harry turned his attention back to the two adults left in the office, Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. The female teacher stared sternly at the ghost child.

"We have all promised to keep your choice of residence a secret, I hope it is clear that you will be expected to do the same," said the witch, "There is no point in our discretion if you disclose your location to everyone you meet," the sunlight glinted off her spectacles, obscuring her eyes from view and making her eyes seem more like white squares of ominous light.

"If I could hide the Dursley's abuse for seven years, then this is gonna be a walk in the park," remarked Harry as he stared right into the woman's glasses, "I'm no stranger to keeping secrets."

McGonagall's glasses slid down her nose and a tender tilt appeared in her eye.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't be…"

"Be that as it may, there is still the matter of sleeping arrangements," Dumbledore brought the situation back on track, "Harry has not been sorted yet and it wouldn't do to put him in any of the house dorms in the case that he was sorted into another house, no matter how much we think we might know where he would end up," Harry watched Professor McGonagall huff and wondered what that was about, "No, I think it would be best if Harry took up residence in one of the guest suites that we offer to visitors."

The stern witch wasn't quite convinced; "I think it would be better if he stayed with me in Gryffindor tower. It would be best if there was an adult to supervise him."

Harry didn't like the sound of that at all, "I'm pretty self-sufficient Professor. There's really no need to worry about me," he assured her.

"Nonsense you're still a child," she stated sternly, "I know you may think you're mature Mr. Potter, but you still have a long way to go before you can go out on your own."

The ghost boy's expression changed then to something older, "My family hasn't let me be a kid since I was four years old ma'am."

The room felt colder then and neither adult could look the boy in the eye for a moment after that. Harry stared evenly at both professors before speaking again.

"They weren't kind people, but they taught me to stand on my own two feet," said Harry, "I don't think they meant to, but thanks to them I learned that I can survive without support."

"Be that as it may Mr. Potter-"

"Please call me Harry," requested the raven-haired boy, "I'm pretty sure Mr. Potter would have been my Dad's name if he were still alive," he grinned.

The head of Gryffindor stiffened for a moment, "…Harry, you don't have to stand all on your own here. You can be a kid again; let us take care of you," she almost pleaded.

Harry looked to the side feeling a little guilty. He honestly knew that the witch was sincere, but it seemed the Dursleys were able to affect him more than he originally thought. Just the thought of putting trust in another adult gave him anxiety that he knew he never had before he lived with those awful people. He wished he could have done more than cut off those child support checks they were previously getting, though that howler thing Professor Dumbledore showed him was a really nice touch.

"If it's all the same to you ma'am, I like Professor Dumbledore's suggestion better," Harry felt he needed a little space to himself and he was more likely to get it with the headmaster's suggestion, "It's not you!" he panicked, "It's just that I've never really had my own space before and I think it would be really nice to have that kind of privacy for once. When I go to school during the year it sounds like I'll be in a dorm or something similar right? So that means I won't get much time to myself, so I wanna feel that freedom now. Y'know what I mean?"

"And who would supervise you?" the woman raised a brow. She didn't seem to be insulted by the fact that he rejected her though, which was good.

Harry cocked his head to the side, "…uhm everyone, it's not like I've left the castle. It's just a bedroom, what am I gonna do in there that could possibly need supervising? Besides I'm pretty sure I'm gonna spend way more time outside that thing than inside," he grinned brightly and enthusiastically threw out his arms, "I mean I just moved into a castle! This place just screams 'EXPLORE ME AND ALL MY CREEPY ANCIENT SECRETS PLEASE!' in big red gothic lettering-"

"I thought you couldn't hear spelling?" Dumbledore smiled bemusedly.

"This is font," corrected Harry seriously, "it's completely different."

"I see," the chief warlock nodded sagely.

If Professor McGonagal was anyone else she would have whimpered, for she just had a vision of the future relationship between the boy-who-lived and the greatest wizard of their age.

And it terrified her.

Neither male noticed, or maybe it just didn't bother them.

Dumbledore clapped his hands, "Good then, so I believe we've come to an agreement. Harry will take over one of the guest suites and I think I know just the one. Come along Harry!"

The Deputy Headmistress didn't bother to protest, it was clear she had lost this one.

The Headmaster stood from his chair and walked to the door to his office beckoning for the two to follow him, which they did.

Harry stepped on the first step down the spiral staircase and almost jumped out of his skin when it started moving downward on its own.

"Muggle stairs don't do that do they?" Professor McGonagall joked dryly. He could tell she didn't do it much.

"Actually some do," the ghost boy felt compelled to correct her, "We call them escalators."

The stern witch's eyes widened in surprise, "I see."

The trio exited through a doorway guarded by a gargoyle and into a wide-open castle corridor, but Harry didn't really get the chance to gape at the architecture.

He was too busy collapsing on the floor in a shivering mess.

* * *

Dumbledore heard a soft thud behind him and swiveled around sharply just in time for Minerva to throw herself on the ground to try to evaluate the boy's condition.

"He's like _ice_ Alus!"

They could both see Harry's breath coming out in puffs of cold air. Dumbledore wasted no time and summoned his patronus.

A silvery shape burst free from his wand and coalesced into the shape of a phoenix closely resembling Fawkes. It hovered around its caster silently comforting, for it was incapable of the same phoenix song as a true phoenix. The white bearded wizard had no time for that though, and commanded the charm to deliver a message to Madam Pomfrey as soon as magically possible. The bird spread its wings and glided away.

He turned his attention back to Minerva who had transfigured Harry's sweatshirt into a warm woolen blanket and was now casting several warming charms on all of his clothes.

None of it was having any noticeable effect.

"What is this? Do you think someone got to Harry before we did?" Minerva was almost desperate now.

"I cannot say," replied Albus, to those who really knew him, they could hear a panicked chord.

"Out of my way!" Madam Pomfrey's strict voice carried down the hallway toward the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. A flurry that would later be identified as a nurse's uniform rushed passed the two and examined the downed boy.

A few moments later the two heard, "Right, it's safe to move him, let's get him down to the Hospital Wing!" she ordered, before muttering, "Here for less than a day and he's already here to see me. This one's goin' to be trouble I know it!"

The medi-witch wave her wand and Harry's prone body began to float. She directed the levitating child in front of her and hurried off to the Hospital wing. Dumbledore and McGonagall following swiftly after.

* * *

Harry woke up unable to move and fell into a panic. Everything was so hot and constricting that he felt he would surely suffocate. He was about to try and phase out of whatever was holding him when he heard voices. They were muffled and Harry couldn't recognize them. There was no point in trying to pretend to sleep, these people already had the upper hand.

"I don't know who you people are," He yelled out, "but if you don't let me out then I'll do it myself and you'll sorely regret it."

He felt himself being unwrapped from whatever was covering him head to toe and the voices became a bit clearer.

"You're hardly in a state to get out of that bed young man, let alone make threats," a strict, but familiar voice lectured.

Bed…?

Harry looked down to see that he was previously held hostage by no less than twenty assorted sheets and blankets. His face turned beet red.

"…Oh, uhm why am I in bed?" He asked shyly. He remembered following Dumbledore to see his new room and then everything got really _cold_.

"We were hoping you could help us answer that question actually," Dumbledore who had been standing off to the side next to Professor McGonagall pulled up a chair at the foot of Harry's bed.

"You see you collapsed on us on the way to your new room, which is conveniently on this floor by the way," the old wizard grinned brightly, "Your body temperature dropped to dangerous levels in a unheard of amount of time. Your very breath was visible Harry; we had to do something, anything to warm you up."

Harry felt the almost scalding sheets.

"I take it that these blankets aren't normal blankets?"

"They were," Professor McGonagall answered, "but we added several warming charms as well. You were in very dangerous territory Mr. Potter."

"It's just Harry, Professor, please."

"Yes, well Harry," Dumbledore cut in, "has this kind of thing happened before?" the man was desperately searching the boy with his eyes. Harry felt the tiniest pressure in his mind and glared fiercely at the Professor, who flinched.

"Please- forgive me Harry," the old wizard pleaded, "I'm just worried-"

"That's no excuse," the boy rebuked softly enough so only the wizard in front of him could hear.

Dumbledore sighed and smiled sadly, "You're right, you're right. I just want to know-"

"Are there ghosts in the castle?"

Dumbledore considered the question carefully.

"…Yes over twenty ghosts reside in the castle at the moment," Dumbledore regarded the boy carefully, "may I ask why?"

"You asked if this happened before," answered Harry, "It has, It was a really, really long time ago though. It was when I first met Danny Phantom."

"Hmm…" Dumbledore looked curious, "what happened?"

"Puffs of cold air started coming out of my mouth, and I felt really cold," said Harry, "I never fainted or anything though. Danny suggested that it could be ESP or something, but we never really saw any other ghosts to try it out on," the ravenette shrugged.

"Do you always shiver around this Phantom boy?" inquired Madam Pomfrey.

Harry looked up at her and let out the barest of flinches. He forgot about the other two. He hadn't really wanted everyone to know about his ghostly self until he was good and ready.

"No, once I discover where the ghost is I guess, it just kinda stops," Harry shrugged.

"Why can you sense ghosts in the first place?" Professor McGonagall wondered out loud, Harry doubted she expected him to have an answer, but he did. He's had one ever since Professor Dumbledore told him where he got his scar.

"I don't know, Phantom asked the same thing. He usually just laughed it off though and just said I'm just way more in tune with death than anyone alive," Harry shrugged casually.

The three adults in the room felt the room grow colder. Every single one of their eyes zeroed in on the scar on Harry's forehead. McGonagall adjusted her glasses nervously, Pomfrey lost the will to busy body her visitors for a moment and Dumbledore's shoulders sagged sadly.

"This Danny sounds like a very bright young man," remarked Dumbledore, "The world is unfortunate to have lost such an intuitive boy before he could reach his full potential."

"He tries not to let something as trivial as death stop him," the adults looked at him oddly, "his words, not mine.

"So, now that I am _clearly_ all better, we can get back to moving in right?"

Madam Pomfrey looked absolutely livid, "Absolutely not! You need rest! You are not leaving that bed until I say you are good and ready!" Harry pouted.

Just great, Harry just moved into an enchanted castle and he got grounded on the first day.

If Harry didn't know any better he could have sworn that he was getting looks of pity from Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore.

Fantastic…

* * *

**OMGWTFBBQ They made it to Hogwarts!**

**Darry is clearly compensating for his lack of parents with fancy stuff now *rolls eyes*. He is also enjoying the wiggle room that magic is giving his excuses XD**

**As for the freezing? What did you expect? He hadn't used that power in ten years and suddenly he's in a castle full of ghosts. Can you say OVERLOAD?**

**Review Guys!**


	11. Ghostly Introduction: Harry vs Peeves

**I'm BACK**

* * *

Harry was never one to just lie around and do nothing for long periods of time. As Phantom, ghost attacks would almost always keep him busy and when he was older, being the proud father of Andy, Morgan and Alexandra (Alex) Fenton, while taking over the family business was a full-time job. Harry would _never_ call being Sam's husband a chore, but she kept him busy in _other_ ways. He ended up with those three kids somehow and it wasn't adoption.

But he couldn't say that he appreciated her dragging him to every last protest rally in the tri-state area though, or the periodic attempts to convert the kids to an all vegan diet either.

Even when he was wasting away in the Ghost Zone in exile, Harry refused to lay idle. To slow down meant to remember everyone who moved on without him and that was just too painful, so he kept himself busy. He built bikes with Johnny 13, he studied biology under Frostbite in the Far Frozen, participated in the games of Ghostly Rome with Pandora and the other Greco/Roman pantheon, listened to the unabridged history of the world from Clockwork and helped Queen Dora catch up to the modern era with her King Technus (ew…); anything to keep his mind from drifting towards the despair that was eternity.

As Harry, he was never given the chance to relax. The Dursleys believed that once he was old enough to walk he was old enough to be put to work. He almost never got any time to himself at Number 4 Private Drive. The rare times he was were to give Dudley someone to harass and when he found a haven at the Public Library.

He couldn't technically chill at the library either as Henry was the only one who knew about his situation and their deal, so he would still keep himself busy with things like school work, reading, rearranging books, and cataloging.

It wasn't like he had a bedroom to retreat to either. A cupboard under the stairs is hardly the place to spend time or chill out.

So it wasn't that hard to come to the conclusion that relaxing was a foreign concept to Harry by now.

Which, unfortunately for him, was exactly what he was being forced to do for the last two days.

Harry looked up at the ceiling with the same dead look in his eye that he had for the last couple hours. He'd been laying absolutely still because every time he twitched the nurse from hell would come swooping out of her office and shove him right back in bed. One time she had even used some spell that caused his entire body to freeze in place!

It was like she thought he was trying to escape or something!

He absolutely was, but that wasn't the point! _She had no proof!_

All the woman would let him do was sleep. He couldn't even read a book or something and the Wizarding World didn't have television. In fact nothing electric worked at Hogwarts for some reason.

Yet another thing he would investigate as soon as he _got out of this bed_!

It's not like he could openly use his ghost powers either. To his absolute horror, _the walls had eyes_! Or more specifically, the portraits on the wall did; yeah, they were _alive_! They talked and moved and had personalities all their own. They were also huge gossips that would probably love the story about the boy-who-lived, who suddenly turned invisible before their very eyes and vanished from the Hospital Wing.

This was probably one of those safety measures Dumbledore mentioned about Hogwarts if the paintings were everywhere. It was absolutely brilliant, if not somewhat inconvenient.

So all he could really do was lay around and wait for Madam Pomfrey to give him the okay…

…which would probably never happen.

That's it! He couldn't take it anymore!

"Madam Pomfrey!" Harry yelled out desperately.

The witch walked quickly out of her office and to the frustrated boy's bed.

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

"Yes, actually," the ravenette was careful to keep his voice neutral. Adults never listened to temperamental children, "I feel fine. I've been feeling fine for two days and you still won't let me leave."

The medi-witch narrowed her eyes; "I have never seen anything like what happened to you on Wednesday before in my entire personal career or even mentioned in any textbook. You are here to recuperate and-"

"-to be observed like an experiment?" finished Harry coldly, raising a brow.

Madam Pomfrey flushed red, "Absolutely not! Young man you could be in danger of another attack from whatever _this,_" she gestured wildly at his person, "is! I suggest you think about your _safety_ for a moment instead of suspecting others!"

Harry felt like he'd been slapped. He wanted to apologize for his shameful behavior until he remembered what the consequences of backing down meant.

"I am thinking about my safety," the ghost boy replied, "my mental health is in danger! I think I might just go crazy from doing nothing all day!"

The elder rolled her eyes, "You could sleep like you're suppose to be doing."

"I can't sleep," Harry, replied, "I haven't done anything to make myself tired. I can't sleep after doing nothing all day."

The Hogwarts nurse took a closer look at the-boy-who-lived. She saw dark circles under his eyes and frowned deeply.

"Have you been sleeping well these past two days?"

"It depends; do you count day dreaming?" Harry asked with a loopy smile. His head tilted a little to the left.

"You mean to tell me you haven't slept at all!?" she cried.

"Not a wink."

"What have you been doing then?"

"Counting ceiling tiles mostly…"

The woman threw her hands up in the air.

"I don't believe this!" She started back to her office, "Stay _right_ there young man I'll be right back!"

Harry didn't move for once, but only because he actually seemed to be getting somewhere with Madam Impossible.

* * *

Dumbledore wasn't sure how the boy had done it, but he had managed to do what no one had ever managed to do before. He had convinced Poppy to let him go at least a week early.

This boy was clearly destined for greatness!

The Hogwarts headmaster strolled into the Hospital Wing and was met by the two already inside.

"Hello Harry, Poppy," He nodded his head to each of them. Harry waved enthusiastically from his bed (maybe a little too enthusiastically) while Madam Pomfrey just dipped her head respectfully, "I hear that someone's ready to leave today?"

"…Yes," the witch said through gritted teeth, "Although if he shows any signs then I want him to come right back!"

"Understood ma'am," Harry saluted before he literally hopped out of the bed and out of the strict woman's reach. He pulled out his wand and, to the surprise of both adults in the room, waved it haphazardly causing the dirty clothes on the chair next to the bed to fly across the room and into his hand.

"Harry when did you learn the Accio charm?" Albus asked the boy next to him. That was fourth year material and the boy in front of him just pulled it off without the incantation _or _the proper wand gesture.

The ravenette looked confused, "Acc- what?"

"The spell you just performed nonverbally," Poppy specified.

"I've been able to make things move on their own for a while now," admitted Harry, "I never used a spell for it, the wand kinda makes it easier though," he waved the aforementioned object around for emphasis.

"I see," said Dumbledore. The natural talent and potential Harry showed the Headmaster was astounding.

_If he can do this much without proper training, just what will he be capable of when classes start?_

A rush of excitement ran through the old wizard, which he tried very hard to suppress. He was supposed to be impartial with his students, darn it! Showing this much favor towards one was completely unprofessional. It would be just as unhealthy for the student as it was for everyone else around him to be singled out like that.

But the professor knew it was a lost cause even trying to deny it. He had grown much fonder of Harry Potter than he had planned.

Harry was still twirling his wand around when Professor Dumbledore spoke again.

"I would suggest caution with your wand, my boy. It seems to react very easily; we don't want any accidents," he warned.

Harry hastily shoved his wand back into its holster and smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, I just never got to stretch out that part of me at the Dursleys y'know?"

The elder wizard winced inwardly at the thought of having to hide his magic so thoroughly.

"That's no excuse for recklessness," scolded the nurse, still bitter that he would be leaving her care earlier than she would have liked.

Harry held his hands up in front of him in mock surrender "My bad."

"No harm done Harry," said Albus, "Thank you for taking such wonderful care of him Poppy, but now if you'll excuse us I think it's high time Harry actually made it to his room."

"Yes!" Harry whooped joyously, "finally! Bye Madam Pomfrey!"

The boy-who-lived ran out of the Hospital Wing doors where he waited for the Headmaster to catch up.

"Come on Professor! You're wasting daylight!" Harry waved frantically, no doubt full of pent-up energy from two days spent in a hospital bed.

Dumbledore chuckled quietly.

Ah, to be young again.

* * *

Harry followed Dumbledore and true to his word, his room was not very far from the Hospital Wing at all. In fact it was right across from it in the third floor west wing. The two came to a stop in front of a blank stone wall, but Harry just came from Diagon Alley so he wasn't fooled.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore, "So, how does this wall open up?"

He could see the older man's eyes glitter in approval.

"Do you see how this section of wall stands between Morgan le Fey and Ethelred the Ever-Ready's Portraits?" The ghost boy glanced to each side and took note of both the regal painting of a powerful looking witch in medieval garb with a staff and a picture of a man who looked very much like he was getting ready to shout something at the two in the hallway, but thought better of himself and relaxed.

"Simply stand in the middle and tap your wand in a pattern of your choosing. The suite is unused, so the pattern must be set."

"It can be anything?" asked Harry.

"Anything," the bearded professor confirmed, "but if I may give a word or two of advice, I would try to keep it simple."

Harry laughed nervously, "Yeah, wouldn't want to get locked out of my own room."

The ghost boy stood in front of the wall and pondered his pattern. He sure wasn't going to do a lightning bolt; that was ridiculously obvious. He though about his logo, but forgot about it when he realized just how complicated tapping that thing out would be.

He needed something that he wouldn't forget, but wouldn't hard to tap up. Initials were almost always the first things that thieves would guess, so he wouldn't use those. Morse code was probably lost on this thing too.

His mind recalled the dark skies of the ghost zone, where he spent so many years of his life. Their green and black atmosphere and their-

Harry knew what to do.

He started to tap in a counterclockwise circular motion, but before he ended the loop he tapped the line just a little inward into another circle inside the first and another inside that and another and another. And just like that, Harry tapped out the trademark swirl of the ghost portal and the zone inside.

The stone blocks shook and then rearranged themselves to reveal a wooden door.

Harry reached and turned the knob only to realize it was locked. He turned to the headmaster again.

"Can I have the key please?" Harry asked Dumbledore.

"You already have it," answered Dumbledore.

"Uhm…," Harry looked at the keyhole to the door. It was one of the stranger keyholes he had seen. It was only a tiny circular hole, about half the size of a penny.

"Are you gonna pull the key from out of my ear or something, because otherwise I don't have anything that fits that."

"I wasn't aware that you kept storage in your ear," Dumbledore confessed glibly, "but unless that's where you keep your wand then, no I think I'll keep my hands away from there."

"What's my wand got to do with the key?" Harry pulled out the black and white stick of wood and examined the keyhole again. He looked back to the tip of his wand then back to the hole. He thought back to his trunk and how his wand had worked as a key to that when he tapped it a certain way.

Maybe this was similar?

Harry pressed the tip of his wand into the keyhole and he felt a surge of energy rush through him. He was about to step away, but Dumbledore immediately grabbed his shoulder and held him there.

"Don't pull back Harry," ordered the wizard, "The room is only accepting you and your magic as its master."

Harry's heart was beating fast. This energy felt similar to the way a lair was built back in the ghost zone. It was personal and way too intimate for a place he had only been in for two days. The ghost child felt as if his very being was open for whatever was running through him to see and dissect. He felt naked and vulnerable all at once.

Harry did his best not to show his mortification to the elder wizard next to him, but he knew that Dumbledore already noticed the way he went as still as stone when the magic engulfed him. The headmaster threw the boy a concerned look but focused on keeping him in place as the foreign magic left his body and back into the keyhole through his wand. Only then did Professor Dumbledore let go.

Harry leapt back from the offending item.

"Will it do that every time I have to open the door!?" his voice was a little high.

"Do what, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"Strip-search my soul!" Harry replied, clearly panicked.

"Ah that," Dumbledore nodded, "No this is the last time the lock will be that thorough, although very few people are ever uncomfortable with the process of synching their magic with something."

"It just feels really invasive," Harry hugged his arms to his torso.

"Forgive me Harry," apologized the old wizard, "I had no idea you would react this way towards magic synching, however it _is_ one of the safest security measures when it comes to locks-"

"-so naturally I'd be safest with that kind of keyhole. I get it," Harry finished

"Yes well," the headmaster considered, "why don't you try to open the door now that the process is over and done?"

Harry looked wearily at the door.

"If it still makes you feel uncomfortable then I promise you we can find you a room somewhere else," assured the professor.

Harry sighed, "If you say so…"

The ravenette walked back up to the door and pressed his wand back into the keyhole and readied himself for the worst.

It never came.

Instead, he felt some of his own magical energy 'greet' a familiar energy inside the keyhole and then he heard a soft click. The whole process took about a millisecond and was absolutely painless.

Harry turned the knob and found it open this time.

"Any better?" asked Dumbledore, who was still concerned.

"Actually yeah, it didn't feel anything like when I synched it," said Harry.

"Good," Dumbledore beamed, "because there are certain benefits to a room that is synched to you by magic."

Harry didn't question it as he already heard the security details and opened the door to his new room. He didn't have high expectations; he had just come from a closet under the stairs for crying out loud! If the bed was anywhere near as comfortable as the one the Professor conjured at Mrs. Figg's house, then he was happy. He could make any other adjustments from there, but anything was better than sleeping on that cot on number 4 Privet Drive.

…Then again, he might not have to make as many adjustments as he thought.

Harry walked into the living area of the suite and let out a low whistle. The walls were a shade of blue that matched the afternoon sky with rich hardwood floors and shaggy green rugs. A blue, curved, four-piece sectional couch sat in front of a light stone fireplace. A small study area was nestled off to the left hand side with a wooden desk that was only slightly darker than the floor and- to Harry's surprise- a modern office chair and several empty bookshelves lined the walls waiting for Harry to inevitably fill them up. The door leading to the bathroom was also on the left, but Harry had no real wish to explore that room.

"I can see why you chose this room for me Professor," exclaimed Harry, "but how did you how I wanted to decorate my room?" Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Maybe Professor Dumbledore was better at reading minds than he gave him credit for…

The headmaster was startled by the ghost boy's sudden animosity.

"Calm yourself my boy," he placated the youth, "I told you there were certain benefits to synching a room with your magic did I not?"

"Yeah, I know. You said it's one of the safest locks around," answered Harry.

"Ah, but that isn't the only good to come from letting the room become accustomed to your very essence."

Realization dawned on the ravenette. No wonder it felt like building a lair; it was personalizing the space to reflect him. It drew on what made him comfortable and what was familiar. Harry had to admit that it was nice to have a haven like his home in the Ghost Zone again.

"That would explain the soul assault…" Harry rubbed his chin.

"I'm glad you understand, though I wish you wouldn't call it that," Dumbledore smiled, "I'm afraid this is where I leave you Harry. I've got a bit work to catch up on. Feel free to explore the castle my boy, I trust you know how to take care of yourself?"

Harry saluted "Aye, aye sir."

"Good, very good," said Professor Dumbledore, "Oh! There's just one more thing before I leave. Buttons!"

POOF!

A puff of smoke next to the old wizard cleared to reveal a pinkish creature that the ten-year old had never seen before. It was a little shorter than a goblin and had big floppy ears. Its eyes were huge and grey and its nose was round and small. It wore a pillowcase that it refashioned into a kind of tunic and walked around barefoot.

"This is Buttons," said Dumbledore, "she will be in charge of cleaning your room and your laundry and whatever else you might require." The Chief Warlock's gaze turned stern, "though I must say that I would be most disappointed to hear if a certain boy abused the privilege of having such a kind and loyal servant."

Harry was about to say that he didn't _need_ a servant until he remembered that he didn't even know his way around the building yet. He looked down to the short girl-thing and smiled kindly.

"Soooooo, how well do you know your way around the castle?"

Buttons hopped up and down excitedly, "Oh! Buttons knows all sorts of places in the castle! Does Master Harry want a tour?"

Harry thought about it for a second before shaking his head.

"No thanks, I wanna explore on my own for a little bit first if you don't mind. I'll call for you if I get lost though if that's all right?"

"Buttons doesn't mind at all! You can count on me, yessir!" she nodded so quickly that her ears flopped back and forth from the force.

"Cool that's all I need for now I guess," said Harry.

Buttons saluted the two wizards and vanished in another puff of smoke.

"Hey… Professor?" Harry scratched the side of his head.

"Yes Harry?"

"What is Buttons exactly?"

"She's a house elf," answered the Headmaster, "a species of magical creatures that specialize as servants for wizards."

Harry blinked owlishly.

"So she's a slave…?"

"Yes and no. House elves are happiest when they are serving others; it's their way. They don't mind being treated like property by wizards, but not everyone treats their house elves' kindly Harry. Don't be one of those wizards," Professor Dumbledore's voice was low, but Harry got the message loud and clear.

Harry nodded back to the Professor. He still wasn't sure how to feel about an entire species being enslaved to another, but he had a feeling that asking the Professor wouldn't yield too many answers. The man sounded very much like the impartial justice figure he was suppose to be, which was all well and good when Harry wanted textbook answers. Although when it came to the more critical thinking, the elder wizard was more inclined to encourage Harry to try and work it out himself. Any time he really wanted to point him in any direction, the man would be almost infuriatingly subtle or cryptic, but never overbearing or heavy handed. It was an approach Harry could respect, and he was filled with more than enough pent up energy to investigate the house elf perspective right now.

Harry smiled sardonically up at Dumbledore, "I think it would be a little hypocritical of me to treat a house elf like that."

Dumbledore patted the ghost boy's head, "I'm glad you can see them that way, many a wizard and witch have taken advantage of a magical being's life choices and natural inclinations."

The headmaster lifted his hand from the boy's head and began to walk towards the door. He took one last look around Harry's living room.

"I'll see you later Harry, though I must say I like what you've done with the place," the man's eyes were sparkling now and Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"If you want I can redecorate your office," offered Harry mockingly.

"I'm afraid I must decline," Dumbledore shook his head, "I think I've finally gotten everything in an order where I can find it. It would only confuse this old mind to rearrange everything. Farewell Harry!" The Professor closed the door behind him.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and flopped on his new couch.

He wondered if the Professor was able to interpret anything from the room's appearance in relation to his character; he hoped not.

He hoped the old man didn't notice that most of the woods sampled in the ornate columns and moldings were from around the world instead of just the local breeds of the U.K.. He really hoped that Professor Dumbledore didn't notice that the walls seemed to actually _change_ color to match the sky outside. The change was absolutely miniscule, but Harry's enhanced eyesight was able to pick up on it. Harry also noticed that there wasn't a single light source in the room, but the whole space was still somehow lit up with natural sunlight. The shadows indicated that it came from the ceiling, but Harry could not find a skylight, lamp or candle anywhere.

He had no idea what conclusions the Headmaster would draw from those kinds of features, but the old man understood magic much better than Harry, so it could have been a lot. Maybe it worked like fortune telling?

Pppfffh!

_Hehehe fortune telling…. Clockwork's favorite prank on mankind_.

Harry brushed a hand through his hair and tried to focus on something that wouldn't make him panic, or lonely.

His eyes landed on the pants he arrived in and he noticed a lump in the pocket. Harry groaned, he completely forgot about unpacking.

The ghost boy swung his legs off the couch and scooted over to the cushion that he threw his dirty clothes on. He pulled out the trunk, un-shrunk it and started to make his rooms looks less empty.

* * *

It didn't take Harry as long as he thought to unpack his stuff. Despite the massive shopping spree he went on, he still didn't have enough clothes to fill his new dresser, his books didn't even fill up one of his bookcases and he lacked the ten years worth of childish toys and knickknacks that came with having a loving family in order to clutter up the tops of tables, dressers and night stands. All in all his new room looked very nice, but very empty.

Harry looked at the books on his shelf and considered getting a head start on magic, but immediately reconsidered. Books were okay, but they were also the only things Harry was allowed to do for years without getting in trouble for. He needed something different. Besides, he could practice magic when he got his first year schoolbooks; it would probably be easier to understand those anyway.

The ravenette thought back to Buttons and wondered if she would be willing to chat with him. He knew he told her he didn't need her then, but that was before he knew she was quasi-enslaved being. He had _**questions**_. Maybe he'd take her up on that tour while he was at it, she did seem really eager…

A huge puff of cold air escaped Harry's mouth.

…Or he could go find some of those resident ghosts.

Harry checked to make sure his wand was in its holster and walked out the door.

He didn't have a map or anything, so he was totally lost when it came to the castle's layout. That however, did not mean he was clueless to the general whereabouts of other beings in the area. His third eye could at least give him somewhere to start.

Harry closed his eyes and stood still. He always got a wider range when he could sit motionless and isolate that particular sense. His scope narrowed down a lot when he was multitasking.

There were at least a hundred beings doing busy work several meters below him, a couple odd blips that Harry felt similar to the patterns of vermin and pest infestations (he'd leave those to practice magic on later, he needed the exercise), and several presences walking or sitting doing desk work that he identified as human. He avoided feeling for the forest and lake at the moment and tried to narrow his focus back to Hogwarts castle.

There!

Harry felt several floating presences around the building. He wasn't sure what to make of so many spirits, but the closest one was just another floor down.

Harry made a quick guess and turned right out of the west wing. He came to a set of spiraling stairs and quickly darted down then headed left, back in the direction of the west wing of the second floor. Although before Harry turned into the west wing corridor he stopped short and stood in front of a door.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Above the door was a sign that clearly stated: Girl's Restoom.

Harry sighed and another puff of cold air escaped. The ghost boy looked both ways to see if anyone was coming and groaned.

"Why haunt a bathroom?" whined the ten-year old, "Why couldn't it be an arcade?" Harry trudged in reluctantly.

Harry would admit that the bathroom was kind of fancy with its high ceilings and its sinks all arranged in that circle, but the ravenette could still think of better places to spend an afterlife.

"Hello?" Harry called out, "Anyone in here?"

One of the toilets spewed water up like a fountain and Harry jumped back ready to fight. A miserable howling noise echoed over the ceramic tiles. Harry cringed and identified the voice as female. A horrible thought occurred to Harry then: what if the ghosts of this world had to use the bathroom every once in a while? Did he just walk in on this one while she was doing her business? Harry mentally slapped himself; ghosts don't need to eat and when they do, they just burned it off with ecto-energy.

The howling got louder just as a grey and silver shape erupted from the toilet fountain. The spirit looked like a little girl around Harry's age once it assumed a shape.

"What's a booooy doing in the giiiiirls bathroom?" she moaned.

Harry waved, "Hi, I felt a ghost in here and had to check it out. What's your name?"

"Ooooh, so you come to gawk at poor old miserable Moaning Myrtle have you?" the girl looked halfway between tears and punching something.

"Actually I can just sense ghosts, you're not the first one I've seen," Myrtle looked like she'd just been slapped and Harry suddenly widened his eyes.

"So I'm nothing special, huh?! Just another ghost, is that right!?" she practically screeched. Harry waved his arms back and forth frantically in front of his chest.

"No! That's not what I-"

"Get OUT!" the excess water from the toilet fountain which puddled on the floor started to float and Harry booked it from that bathroom before he could see what she would do with it and slammed the door behind him. He knew that it wouldn't stop a ghost, but it would stop that disgusting toilet water she was about to use as a weapon.

"AND STAY OUT!" the ghostly girl roared behind him.

The ghost boy pouted. The girl was obviously a victim of bullying*, but that was no excuse for her attitude. An afternoon spent in a Fenton thermos would work wonders on that kid's disposition.

Another couple of puffs of cold air left his mouth.

"I say, aren't you a little young to try and sneak into the women's bathroom?" drawled a voice above the boy.

Harry looked up to see yet another silver spirit. This one was wearing fourteenth century fashion and had long curly hair. He had a mustache and goatee to shape his narrow angular face along with a wide brimmed hat with a fancy feather sticking out.

"I wasn't sneaking. I just walked right in and let her know I was there," Harry felt a need to defend himself, "I even said hi!"

The floating man snorted, "Yes well, it isn't really normal for a boy to stroll into the women's lavatory you know. You'll have to forgive Myrtle for being a little embarrassed.

Harry snorted this time, "For what? It's not like I would've caught her with her pants down or something! There were stalls and she was _inside the toilet_. Besides, the last time I checked ghosts have absolutely no need to use the bathroom anyway."

"That may be true, but Myrtle has always haunted this bathroom. It's very personal to her," the spirit explained.

"Maybe it is," Harry conceded, "but that doesn't change the fact that it's still a public restroom. People have the right to go in and use it. Her attitude is way out of line."

"Girls have the right to enter, not boys," the ghost insisted on reminding him.

The half-ghost threw out his arms, "The school is empty right now! It doesn't really matter who goes in what bathroom. As depressing as it is, Myrtle doesn't have any business to take care of in there, so she had no reason to be so rude to me when I walked in!"

The longhaired man stared at him intently for several moments.

"…Why were you in the girl's bathroom in the first place?"

Harry huffed, "I sensed a ghost inside and went to check it out."

The silver specter's eyes became the size of dinner plates.

"You can do what!?"

The raven haired kid shrugged, "I got an affinity for the spiritual I guess."

The ghost was about to reply when another wisp of cold air left his mouth and a silver woman floated up through the floor.

"Sir Nicholas, just who on earth are you talking to?" inquired a beautiful, but haughty, looking young lady wearing ninth or tenth century garb. The silver nobleman was about to answer, but Harry cut him off.

"That would be me, Hi I'm Harry. Nice to meet you," the woman nodded regally at him, but looked a bit curious. She turned to the other ghost and whispered something into his ear. Harry pouted inwardly since they were ghosts and therefore on equal footing, they had the capability of muting themselves to the point where he couldn't pick it up. Not in his human form at least.

"That is a good question, my Lady!" replied the male spirit, who turned to Harry, "Why _are_ you here during the holidays? Classes don't start for another two months."

The ghost boy shifted his weight between the front and the back of his foot.

"Professor Dumbledore is letting me live here since I have no where else to go."

"How awful!" the woman exclaimed.

"Hey! It's not all bad," Harry grinned, "How many kids get to live in a castle?"

"That's the spirit!" cheered the ghostly gentlemen.

The woman sent a reproachful look at the man before settling her attention back on Harry, "Don't you miss your family at all?"

The dark haired boy sighed, "My parents died when I was really young. I stayed with my non-magical aunt and uncle for a while, but they treated me like I was less than human until the professor showed up. I haven't got anyone else."

The female spirit's eyes narrowed sharply, "I see," her eyes raked over his form and she clicked her tongue in disapproval, "They obviously didn't feed you very well either. Follow me young man."

The woman turned and began to float down the hallway.

The male silver spirit floated down to Harry's level, "We had best follow the Lady."

The ghost boy shrugged, "sure, why not."

He trotted after the female spirit as she walked past the spiral staircase he used to get down to the second floor and turned to a new corridor. Harry looked up at the female specter.

"…so I gave you my name, but I don't think I caught yours."

The woman glanced back, still gliding through the air, "I am Lady Helena, better known as the Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw House."

"And that other guy? You said his name was Nicholas?" he asked.

Harry felt a presence swoop up behind him, which was the only thing that kept him from jumping ten feet in the air when he heard a loud, but familiar voice.

"That's right! Sir Nicholas De Mimsy-Porpington, the ghost of Gryffindor house. At your service!" Harry noticed the specter's head jiggle oddly, but it settled after a moment so he didn't say anything. He just assumed the man died when his neck snapped or something like that.

They reached the end of the corridor to a site that wouldn't be to out of place in the Ghost Zone. Several stories worth of staircases were all moving from floor to floor. It took a moment but Harry could definitely see a pattern going on with the enchanted stairwells, but he didn't know where he was going so the knowledge was kind of useless.

Luckily Lady Helena seemed to remember that Harry couldn't fly (as far as she knew) and pointed to the sets of stairs that he needed. He nodded gratefully.

"Ah, yes this is one thing I don't envy about you living folk here at Hogwarts," Sir Nicholas commented, gazing at the ever-moving sets of stairs.

Harry had to agree; what was wrong with normal stairs? Sure he would have to walk more, but it would be much less confusing than standing around from five minutes to a half an hour just to memorize, which stairs go where.

He ended up taking the stairs all the way down to the ground floor where he was lead into one of the most impressive entrance halls he'd seen in a long time and then through some _huge_ doors into, what Harry guessed to be, a medieval cafeteria.

"This," the Grey Lady gestured at the room, "is the Great Hall, this is where students have their meals,"

_HA! I was right!_

"Where some study and spend their free periods, and where the opening and closing feasts are held at the beginning and ending of the year."

The ghostly knight picked up where Helena left off, "There are four tables, one for each House."

"About that," said Harry, "You keep saying 'Houses' and 'Gryffindor' and 'Ravenclaw', but I have no idea what you're talking about." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"You've never heard of the four houses?" Sir Nicholas looked absolutely appalled; "I thought you said Dumbledore brought you here? Surely he would have told you about something like this!"

"We had other stuff to worry about," the ravenette said bluntly.

The female spirit sighed, "Honestly Nicholas, there are other things in this world besides the House Cup."

"The what?"

The ghostly nobleman perked up, "You see Harry there are four houses in Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. At the beginning of a student's first years at Hogwarts they'll be sorted into one of these houses based on which they'll best fit in to. The House you're sorted into will be the House you dorm with, the House you take classes with and the people who you will most likely come to think of as family over the next seven years of your educational career."

"So what's the house cup then?" asked the ghost boy.

"A friendly competition between the four houses," replied the silver man, "You can earn house points from teachers by answering questions correctly in class or just being an all around good student and points get taken away when you misbehave and cause trouble. The House with the most points at the end of the year wins the House Cup!" explained Sir Nicholas enthusiastically.

Harry however was having a hard time feeling the same amount of excitement. Maybe he was hearing it wrong, but it really just sounded like an award for the house that was the biggest collective teacher's pet. There was no way any student actually took this point system seriously.

"So…" Harry said, trying to distract the silver gentleman from the House cup, "what House would I fit into?"

Sir Nicholas was about to answer, but got his arm smacked lightly instead.

"That's not for us to decide," answered the Grey Lady, "that will be determined at the opening feast in your first year and not a moment sooner."

The ghostly young woman floated over to one of the tables, "As much as I love to pass on knowledge, that was not the purpose of coming here. Please have a seat Harry." She gestured to one of the benches nearest to one of the four fireplaces in the hall.

Harry sat down and looked up at the deceased noblewoman curiously. She didn't pay him any attention.

Instead she called out a name, "Patches!"

Poof!

A house elf appeared to answer the call.

"Ghost Lady wants something?" the short servant cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy.

Lady Helena nodded her head sharply and pointed over to Harry, "This boy clearly hasn't had a decent meal in a long time. Tell the others to fix up a feast for one. I will not tolerate a malnourished child in Hogwarts!"

The elf saluted, "Yes your Ghostliness!" and with another Poof! He was gone.

"You really didn't have to do that," the ghost boy assured the silver noble.

"Helga Hufflepuff would have burst into tears at the site of your ribs young man," huffed the Grey Lady, "Hogwarts takes care of everyone within her walls."

Harry looked under his shirt. He wasn't that bad! Or at least not as bad as he could have been…

But he had to admit that he was hungry, so he wouldn't argue any further.

"I must say Harry you take to ghosts very well for someone who was raised by muggles," Sir Nicholas commented, "even witches and wizards are uncomfortable around us sometimes."

"They're probably just jealous that they can't fly the way you can," said Harry casually, "besides ghosts are nothing new to me. I told you before that I was able to sense you."

"You can what!?" the Grey Lady looked a strange mix between shocked and fascinated.

"That's what I said!" cried the deceased nobleman.

"Aw come on," Harry was cut off when several different bowels of soup and different types of hot bread appeared in front of him, complete with silverware. He picked the split pea soup and the garlic bread.

"There was stuff I saw in Diagon Alley that was way weirder than ESP. Tracking ghosts can't be _that_ weird."

"ES-what…?" asked the knight.

"It stands for extrasensory perception," clarified the female specter, "We often call it the inner eye and it is mostly used to communicate with the spirits who have moved on or some higher power, not to find ghosts on this plane."

Harry swallowed his soup before talking again.

"There's a first time for everything. Either way, ghosts just don't bother me. Unless, well, they _bother_ me."

"Understandable," Sir Nicholas nodded.

"_Fascinating! _I've never heard of such a gift in all my years!" Lady Helena gushed at the prospect of something new to study. Harry restrained himself from scooting away from the spirit, but it was hard with the gleam in her eyes. It reminded him of the gleam his parents had when they were talking about dissection.

The main course just came in with turkey, chicken, ham and steak to choose from, when another wisp of cold air left Harry's mouth and something colorful came through the great hall doors with a rush of wind.

"OOOoooh! What's this?" a grating voice echoed loudly throughout the hall, "A wee ickle student here during the holidays? I didn't know we had summer school at Hoggywarts!"

The voice belonged to a floating little man with blue skin and black hair. His outfit was a mismatch clash of colors that seemed like an affront to anyone who ever spent more than two minutes trying not to look like they got dressed in a closet.

"Ah, Peeves, I was rather hoping that finger-trap would have kept you occupied for longer," Sir Nicholas' voice was devoid of the cheer and kindness he had less than two minutes ago.

Lady Helena glared at the little blue man, "Harry, this is Peeves. He's the Hogwarts poltergeist."

The ghost boy's expression turned sour. Poltergeists in his world were one of the most awful jobs he took on as a ghost hunter. They weren't the strongest type of ghost he ever fought, but he couldn't just suck the spirit into the Fenton thermos when he finished beating the stuffing out of it either and send it to the Ghost Zone. Nope, poltergeists were fixed to the building they sprouted from and the only way to remove that kind of binding would be to demolish the building the spirit was bound to.

Harry had yet to meet a single home-owner that took the news well.

There was always the option of containing the spirit, but Harry couldn't help but find that cruel and completely over the top, which is why he never suggested it to any of his clients. He knew they would probably take the option in a heartbeat, but no one deserved to be trapped in a tiny thermos for the rest of their afterlife.

"Did you miss the train? Did your Mumsy and Daddy forget about you?"

That didn't change the fact that poltergeists were complete arseholes though.

"Peeves! That's enough," Sir Nicholas reprimanded.

Harry glared at the noisy ghost.

"Awww poor baby got left behind!"

Harry looked at the ghost before him with a familiar glint in his eye. He knew it was childish and Lady Helena would probably yell at him, but dessert just arrived and Harry knew just what to do with it.

"Hey Peeves!" yelled Harry.

"What?!"

"There's something on your face."

"What are you talking ab-"

SPLAT!

The poltergeist was blinded by a well-aimed shepherd's pie to the head.

"Woah Slow down! You may be hungry dude, but there's no reason to be so messy about it," a smug grin tugged at the ghost kid's lips.

The blue skinned spirit swiped a wad of pie from his face and sent a nasty grin in Harry's direction.

"Looksy here! An ickle student showing off for a couple a' stiffs!" he snickered.

"Trust me Peeves," said Harry, "it isn't showing off with a target like you," he gestured to the spirit's less than subtle outfit, "I don't think _anyone_ could miss that."

He heard Sir Nicholas' loud guffaw and the Grey Lady trying hard to stifle her own giggles.

"Maybe, but we'll have to see who's the bigger target then, won't we!" Peeves shouted and made a swift exit from the hall. Harry cocked his head to the side and stared at where Peeves was floating just a minute ago.

"Did I just make my first enemy?"

A silvery hand touched his shoulder, or at least it tried to.

"You had best be on your guard now that Peeves has it out for you," Harry looked to his side and stared into the concerned face of Sir Nicholas.

"He really is the worst sort of nuisance," Lady Helena said in disdain.

Harry shrugged the hand off his shoulder, or at least made the motion to, but Nicholas got the idea and pulled his hand back.

"Guys it's fine," said Harry, "Peeves is nothing I haven't dealt with before."

Lady Helena's eyes widened, "You've met other poltergeists before!?"

"I've faced bullies before," said Harry quickly, "and that's all Peeves really is when it comes down to it." He went back to eating his turkey leg.

"So are there any other ghosts in the castle?" asked Harry.

Sir Nicholas grinned and practically vaulted through the ceiling.

"You really shouldn't have said that," said Helena.

Harry shrugged, "Meh, I'm sure I can handle it…"

"I don't know… we have some… very interesting personalities here in the castle…"

"Interesting is better than boring right?" Harry suggested, "It's not like there's any more poltergeists right?"

"Of course not!" The Grey Lady shuddered at the thought, "It's just that Sir Nicholas will probably invite _everyone_ and that's always exhausting to deal with," the silver woman put a hand to her forehead.

"Well I did ask for it so…"

"You don't understand Harry," said Lady Helena, "Sir Nicholas rarely ever stops with just the castle ghosts for these things. I'm afraid that by the time the night is through you may have met every ghost in Scotland."

"Oh."

Harry's ghost sense went off again and the ghost boy had a feeling it would be far from the last time a puff of frost left his mouth that night…

* * *

Harry returned to his room around four A.M. the next morning, completely exhausted, but absolutely thrilled. His ghost sense finally stopped going off and his cold core had finally gone even again until it was ready to fully mature and give him his full cyrokinetic powers. He didn't know how long that would take with this new wizard body, but it didn't seem like he needed to worry about rushing his powers along with the way the ghosts were around here.

They were all just silver shades that could just barely interact with water, fire and air, let alone become a menace to society. They were also a pretty depressing bunch when they were all together, as all they could really talk about was how their lives use to be since they really couldn't do anything after they died. It wasn't anything like the spirits of the ghost zone, who, while dead, found purpose and meaning in their afterlives.

Harry could sort of understand the difference though. Ghosts like Ember and Skulker could touch things and interact with the world around them. Ghosts here didn't have that luxury.

At least not yet.

Harry fingered one of his blankets, turning it intangible in the process. Ghosts around here may not have been able to touch stuff before he got here, but maybe he could lend a helping hand.

He just needed the opportunity.

* * *

**So what does Darry's room tell YOU about Darry**

***Darry's been a victim of bullies in BOTH of his lifetimes, I think he can spot a fellow victim by now. Also his sister was a freaking psychologist/therapist, Darry can probably see the signs.**

**Yeah, Helena would have probably been pretty close to Helga Hufflepuff. The woman was he Mother's BFF for crying out loud. Also Peeves is written in the books to be both tangible and intangible at will, He can interact with objects, such as stuffing gum in keyholes and throwing chairs and abducting Filch's cat. Hitting Peeves would be possible if you got him off guard, which is exactly what Darry did.**

**Review Please!**


	12. We Missed You Mr Luvre

**Hey everyone! I just wanted to share that I've set up a poll on my profile relating to this story. Who do you want to know about Phantom? Go and vote in the poll I want to know what you guys want! I have a rough idea on who finds out what, but the choices might affect the story anyway!**

**Also I'm still trying to think up a new name for this story. All suggestions welcome!**

**Not super happy with this chapter, but it gets important details out of the way.**

* * *

Harry spent the next week and a half exploring the old castle top to bottom. The ravenette just knew that when school started he wouldn't have the time to explore the ancient building and the teachers would probably keep most of the fun stuff off limits anyway. Or at least the parts they knew about. The building was infested with secret passages and doorways that led to places that would make absolutely no sense, had Harry not abandoned the idea of using 'sense' and 'Hogwarts' in the same sentence after he fell through the fifth trap door into Filch's office.

One tunnel lead from the quidditch pitch to the dungeon, but Harry was taking an upward staircase. Another portrait in the Astronomy tower would take the ghost boy to the East tower with no tunnel or passage at all; it was just a doorway that totally ignored the fact that the place it led to was suspended several hundred feet away.

He even found a couple of secret tunnels leading out of the castle grounds. He followed a couple to the end and they all led to the nearby village, Hogsmeade. He didn't spend any time there though, Harry Potter wasn't supposed to be at Hogwarts after all, let alone Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade seemed like the kind of small village where everyone knew each other, an unfamiliar face like his would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

He was reluctant to admit it, but Hogwarts might just as tricky as the Ghost Zone. It was a chilling thought to consider, especially since the place was made by living hands and not the convoluted thoughts and perceptions of the afterlife.

Still, once Harry accepted the fact, he was able to navigate his way around much easier. The castle followed a similar chaotic rhythm to the zone and Harry could follow logic like that. The only real difference between the two was that Hogwarts appeared to have some kind of sentience, while the Ghost Zone was just that, a zone. It was almost undetectable, but it was there.

During the nights Harry flipped through the reading material he got at Diagon Alley.

Reading about dragons was pretty interesting, but he was still pretty sure Dora could've kicked the Hungarian Horntail's butt if she really wanted to. Harry was relieved to find that the vampires in this world were nothing like the ones in his last one. Alucard would have been disgusted at these 'weaklings', but Harry was just happy that he wouldn't have to face a powerful opponent like that again. Seras probably would have been overjoyed at the prospect of vampires openly living in wizard society though. Goblins also didn't seem to answer to the King and Queen of the Labyrinth and the Underground. Shame, Jareth always threw the greatest parties.

In fact a lot of supernatural beings that he was once familiar with were either completely different or nonexistent.

Although stuff like that wasn't as completely foreign to him as what authors wrote about him in regards to his defeat of Voldemort ten years ago. Did no one check their facts in the wizarding world? One of the morons even described a duel taking place! Harry didn't even _own_ a wand at that age!

The fact that no one had seen him for over ten years apparently gave the authors the impression that he was free game to write the most ridiculous stories about. He never slew a troll when he was three; He tripped Dudley once, but even he would call that a bit of an exaggeration.

He had no idea where to start, but with Clockwork as his witness he would find a way to sue the pants off of these people!

And figure out the Sirius sitiuation…

Harry drooped from the sitting position on his bed and stared up at the starry night sky his ceiling imitated.

* * *

"_Hey Prongs! Look what I got!" a teasing voice called into house._

_Harry's dad came in through the kitchen entry holding eleven month old son. Both Potter males arrived to the sight of James' best friend holding a long haphazardly wrapped present._

"_The hell Sirius?" asked James, "Did you get confunded on your way here? It's nobody's birthday and you never gave me presents just for being awesome before…"James' grin reminded Harry of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland as he slid up next to his buddy and nudged his arm with his elbow. _

"_And I wont' be starting now you prat," Sirius was about to roughly push his best away until he noticed that James was holding a tinier cuter version of himself, "It's for Harry!"_

"_It's not his birthday either," James deadpanned, "How could you forget something like that? We fought Deatheaters all the way to the Hospital together!"_

_Sirius sighed with a grin on his face, "That was the greatest broom chase in the history of that month, but no it's not for his birthday. It's a 'I have the most amazing Godfather ever' present and I can give those out whenever the bloody hell I want!"_

_Harry grinned up at Sirius, "awshum gofuver!"_

"_See the Prongslet gets it!"_

_James' raised an eyebrow, "Harry isn't even a year old yet."_

"_- and he's already said his first words, like a month ago. I swear he understands us Prongs!"_

_James gave Harry a proud look, "He is pretty special isn't he?"_

"_Exactly you could even say I'm giving _him _a present for being awesome," The man's grin was smug._

_James pouted, "Now that's just favoritism."_

_Harry patted his dad's chest, "_my_ gofuver."_

_Sirius nodded sagely, "The midget's right. I'm _his_ godfather not yours." The tone of his voice didn't match the upward tugging of his lips. _

_James nodded back, "Very true, let us all wish we could be as wise as Harry."_

_Both adults stared intently at Harry as if waiting for a miracle. The toddle knew they were just messing around, but he couldn't resist going along with it. He pointed his finger to the sky dramatically before slowly and deliberately shoving the digit right up his nose._

_Sirius threw himself back and pointed theatrically at the baby in his friend's arms, "Truly he is all knowing!" he threw his head back and barked out in laughter. James joined in soon after._

_James was the first to calm down, "So what did you get him anyway?" He walked over to one of the couches on the living room and sat down. Sirius picked up the present he dropped and joined him soon after._

"_Something fitting of the greatest seeker Gryffindor's ever had," said Sirius._

"_You can't be serious," said James. His best friend raised a brow, and James rolled his eyes "Right, sorry. I mean you've got to be kidding me! He's not even a year old yet!"_

"_So?" Sirius asked petulantly, "He's your spawn Prongs! I'll bet he's a natural!"_

"_Oh, he will be," James said without a shadow of a doubt, "you know, when he's actually potty trained."_

"_Oh come on!" the long-haired man whined, "didn't you say he tried using the john last weekend?"_

"_That was a fluke!" James cried, "As special as Harry is," the man laughed almost nervously, "there's no way he actually knew what he was doing! Stop getting my hopes up mate! Harry is not pre-potty–trained."_

_The ghost baby pouted and stuck his tongue out petulantly._

_Sirius pointed to the child, "The Prongslet disagrees with you…"_

"_He can disagree all he wants. I'll even get the kid a training pot, and he can prove me wrong. But that doesn't change the fact that Harry is WAY too young for what you're suggesting."_

"_How about we let Harry decide that?" Sirius said. The man picked the baby up away from his father and sat him down on his own lap instead. He brought the shoddily wrapped package up in front of Harry who gleefully started to unwrap it._

_The paper cleared away to reveal a small broomstick that was about twice as tall as Harry._

"_He'll grow in and out of it soon enough," said Sirius._

_James crossed his arms, "Or he could wait until he's old enough to understand English."_

_Harry was very tempted to say that he did, but figured that even wizards wouldn't handle that kind of bombshell very well._

"_I'm willing to bet he already does," grinned Sirius, "He just can't answer back very well. Besides James it's not a real one like what we use. This one doesn't go more than five feet in the air and it only reaches a brisk walking speed."_

_Harry looked at Sirius like he'd the sun for the first time._

_**This thing will let me fly…?**_

"_Sirius I can't. It's just too danger- Harry what are you doing?" asked James, but Harry didn't acknowledge his father like he normally made sure to do._

_The ghost baby was way to busy figuring out how to properly grip the broomstick in his hand. His grip couldn't pull anything impressive, but it could handle his weight and that's all he needed to know._

_Harry stood up from Sirius' lap and put the tiny broomstick between his legs. It didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as he thought it would be; maybe magic softened the seat?_

"_Harry wait! No don't-" his father called, but Harry ignored him again and jumped up._

_He didn't fall back down._

_Harry laughed like a tiny maniac and zoomed across the living room at the briskliest walking speed he could make the broom go. He made figure eights and loop-de-loops upside down and backwards._

_Sure it was only five feet, but he'd spent the last few months barely pushing twelve inches, so that kind of height was still a world of difference._

_He felt like he was on top of the world._

_Until he came crashing down (figuratively of course)when he remembered that he wasn't alone in the room._

_It was the sound of his father's voice that reminded him of his audience, "Merlin's Pants!"_

_Harry slowed down to stare at the two and gulped nervously. He really should have thought this through..._

_Harry saw Sirius practically jumping up and down while pointing at his dad, "I told you! I knew it! I_ knew it_!"_

_James ran up to the spot where Harry was idly floating on his broom and seized the baby in a massive hug, "You scared the daylights out of me little bugger!" Harry laughed as his father squeezed him tight, still giddy from flying._

_The messy haired man lifted him into the air, "Still… I can't believe it! My eleven-month old son flies better than half the people I know!" he laughed._

"_See? Am I the greatest or what?" asked Sirius._

"_Okay, okay, you were right," James agreed before turning his attention back to his son, "Alright Mini-me, are you ready for a real challenge?"_

_Harry nodded. Happy that neither were questioning his insane flying skills._

"_Huh, maybe you really can understand us," said James he set Harry back on the broom and pulled out his wand, "Well then Harry, let's see how you deal with __**this**__!"_

_The next couple hours were spent making the living room ceiling higher and having the ghost baby fly through transfigured hoops and tubes of both men's creation._

_The fun finally ended though when Lily came back from grocery shopping and saw what the two were making her baby do. Harry was placed back in his crib, but he could hear banging and whimpering noises coming from the down stairs. The ghost hybrid shivered._

_**Note to Self: new mom may be just as dangerous as old mom…**_

He knew Sirius was innocent of betraying his parents, it just didn't add up. Sirius was one of the _very_ few people who visited their family during their time in hiding. He always went the extra mile to make the entire family less lonely during the situation.

Voldemort groupies wouldn't kick the body of their deceased leader and hug the person responsible for offing him in the first place. Besides Sirius morphed into a dog! Dogs are the most loyal creatures on the planet! That is not the avatar of a traitor.

Supposedly his godfather murdered Peter, but why? Supposedly Peter was innocent and had nothing to do with Voldemort's defeat.

Harry said 'supposedly' because he never really forgot just how strange Peter acted when he entered to the remains of his parents' house. Just why did he steal Voldemort's wand and bolt like that? Harry knew that was clearly suspicious behavior. Maybe Sirius did too?

But even if Peter was guilty of something bad enough for Sirius to kill him for, it didn't excuse the fact that he also killed twelve other innocent people in the process. He knew his godfather was hot-headed, it was possible that he could have lost control, but twelve people still died and justice had to be served.

The ghost boy huffed angrily. He had nowhere near enough information to work with and nowhere near enough familiarity with wizard law to even begin trying to help his godfather. Although he did know that the word of a ten year old boy, no matter how famous, would be useless without some kind of proof. Something he didn't have.

Still… that didn't mean Sirius should go through it all alone.

The boy rolled over angrily and closed his eyes. The moon and stars in his bedroom sky blinked out appropriately to allow him to get some rest.

* * *

Morning came and Harry dressed himself and made his way to the staff room for breakfast as usual. When the school year started Harry wouldn't be allowed in the room of course, but the Great Hall was just too big for so few people, so the permanent tenants of the castle usually ate meals in the teacher's lounge during the summer.

He opened the door then gave a smile and wave at the people already inside. Harry learned it was better not to say anything too cheery when he first walked in. Not everyone was a morning person, especially Filch.

He took his usual seat at the table next to Professor McGonagall, which was also as far from Professor Trelawny as humanly possible. A house elf prepared plate appeared in front of him.

He ate in relative silence since he really didn't know what to say to these people. He usually didn't have a problem talking to adults at their level, but that was back in the non-magical 'world' as wizards named it. There he could talk about science, literature, pop culture and politics on even ground, but he was completely new here and sounding ignorant could be mistaken for being a naïve child. A category Harry had no desire to be put into.

Being underestimated was one thing, but being babied was something else entirely.

Harry was about to ask Professor Sprout to pass the bacon when Dumbledore strolled into the room. Harry felt a little better, but not much. The Professor wasn't talking to him like he used to. He was always busy with one thing or another with all three of his jobs. The ghost boy didn't begrudge the man, but he still couldn't help, but feel a little lonely.

That must have been why he was so excited when he heard the headmaster addressed him at breakfast that day.

"Harry?"

The boy's head snapped up immediately, "Yeah?"

"A letter came in for you today," said the Professor, "from a Mr. Henry Luvre."

Harry beamed and bolted over to the elder wizard, which threw off almost everyone at the table. They weren't used to the boy being so animated.

"Thank you Professor!" Harry ran back to the table and grabbed some bacon before sweeping out the door and making a mad dash back to his room.

Harry shoved the last piece of bacon into his mouth so one of his hands was free to pull out his wand to open his door. Once inside his room he practically jumped into his desk chair and ripped the envelope open. His eyes greedily took in the words on the page.

'_Hey Harry!_

_ You have no idea how relieved I was when I got your letter, but not as surprised as I was when it came by owl! You never showed signs of being a wizard! My wife (I guess it's safe to tell you now that she's a muggleborn witch) said that magical children usually showed signs of this kind of stuff. Our daughter did. I guess these muggle eyes of mine just skipped right over the special vibes you gave off, huh?_

_ I'm happy to hear that one of your parents' old friends was able to come and take you in. I just wish he could have done it a little sooner if you know what I mean! It's good to know you're safe Harry._

_ By the way, will you continue your muggle education? I hear that Hogwarts doesn't prepare you for a career outside of the Wizarding World and I know that you're way too smart to be limited like that, at least if your reading material was anything to go by. Don't let yourself be caged in okay?_

_ Also you wouldn't happen to be _that_ Harry Potter would you? Don't worry I never told my wife your last name. The last thing I think you need right now is the whole world coming down to smother you! Your secret's safe with me kid._

_ Write back soon!_

_ Mr. Luvre'_

Harry leaned back in his chair and examined the paper again. Mrs. Luvre was a witch? That definitely explained why the man was always so vague when he talked about his family. The man never even told him what his wife did for a living, but if it was magical in nature then Harry could understand why the librarian was so reserved in that area. It also explained why he never talked about his daughter. Harry knew that she was going to be twelve this year, but that was about it. If she went to Hogwarts for schooling, then Harry realized Mr. Luvre probably couldn't brag about his kid like the proud parent he probably was and Harry had no doubt that Henry was that kind of parent.

Still, the Little Whinging librarian brought up an interesting point. Dumbledore didn't really mention any non-magical subjects taught at Hogwarts and the raven haired boy didn't really think Muggle Studies would do any good on a college application. Potions could be considered chemistry if he worded it right and Herbology could pass for an agricultural studies class, but where was English and Math and not-magic History?

Harry was glad to be a wizard but he wasn't going to lie. He wasn't going to shut himself away from the modern world just because he wanted master his magic.

Speaking of modern…

Harry still had no idea why electronics didn't work in the castle, aside from the fact that Hogwarts _obviously_ didn't have an outlet system hooked up in its walls nor was it connected to the power grid. It should still at least allow batteries and other fueled devices to run, shouldn't it?

Harry groaned; staring at his ceiling wouldn't give him any answers. The ravenette grabbed his wand and left his room. He made his way north towards the green houses and Professor Sprout's office.

The ghost boy walked straight past her office though and headed for the green houses instead. Everyone in the castle knew the teacher was almost never at her desk, but up in the more dangerous conservatories taking care of the more high maintenance plants in Hogwarts stock.

Harry walked up to the exit from the castle to the green houses and squinted his eyes in order to keep himself sharp for the presence of the woman he was looking for. His third eye was almost useless in this garden where half the plants were alive and moved around themselves. All the movement was so erratic and close together that the ghost child couldn't decipher what was what.

He was about to move closer to one of the houses to get a closer look when his eyes landed on a length of rope hanging next to him with a note under it.

'_Do not enter the Green houses please! Pull the lever if you need me! – P. Sprout'_

Harry smiled and pulled the rope. Nothing happened.

Harry pulled it again. Nothing. He pulled it a third, fourth and fifth time: nada.

He growled and pulled on the lever repeatedly until he was yanking the thing with both hands, but it was as useless as ever. The ravenette was about ready to yank the thing off the roof when a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder.

"Stop that this instant!" Harry turned around to come face to face with the angry face of Professor Sprout. Harry grinned.

"Oh good you're here! I think your lever's broken," the boy pointed to the offending object.

Pomona Sprout slapped a hand to her forehead.

"The lever is in perfect order," the hand slid down her face, dragging down some skin as it went, "Some plants in the green houses don't respond very well to the noise so the bell is charmed so that I'm the only one who can hear it."

Harry jumped away from the rope as if it were on fire. The professor's mouth twitched upward despite her raging headache.

"So what did you need that was so important that you had to drag me away from disciplining a misbehaved venomous tentacula?"

Harry had no idea what a venomous tentacula was, but he still felt sort of guilty. He knew Professor Sprout was busy, but she seemed like the most approachable. Professor McGonagall still looked at him like he belonged in Gryffindor Tower and he didn't want to deal with that right now. Madam Pomfrey would probably ignore him and try to get him back into the Hospital wing somehow. He thought about Madam Pince, but he was still kind of sore from that condescending introduction in Professor Dumbledore's office. Hagrid was nice and so was his dog, but he didn't seem that knowledgeable about the technical stuff (he lived in a hut after all). Filch was just more pleasant the farther away he stayed from him. Professor Trelawny was just unnerving and Professor Dumbledore was super busy these days.

That just left Professor Sprout, who was by far the most friendly of the bunch. At least she was before Harry pulled the level fifty or so times.

"I was kind of wondering if you could answer a question I had," Harry was suddenly finding the ground super interesting.

The stout woman huffed, "Well out with it then!" the ravenette just knew she was headed to Madam Pomfrey for migraine medication after this.

"Uh, Right! Why don't electricity and modern non-magical devices work at Hogwarts?" asked Harry.

Professor Sprout sighed, "There's too much magic in the atmosphere around Hogwarts for muggle technology to work. Muggleborn students have tried bringing a few devices from home, but they almost always break down from the sheer amount of magic in the air," she shrugged. It was like hearing a practiced answer regurgitated for his convenience.

"Now if you'll excuse me Harry," The plump witch hurried into the castle holding her head. The ghost boy almost shouted he was sorry, but didn't want to make the situation any worse, so let her be.

However that still left him with her less than satisfying answer. Professor Sprout's answer demonstrated that she clearly didn't understand how non-magical stuff worked. Technology functioned by using the forces of the universe like gravity, inertia, energy, chemistry etc. to make a task easier. Technology didn't bend the laws of reality like magic did, it used them to its own advantage.

Electricity, the energy powering modern tech, was a naturally occurring force since the beginning of time and as much as people liked to say technology was distancing people from nature, technology draws from the laws of that very same nature.

If magic could saturate the air then it shouldn't bother technology as it works with natural forces like electricity, inertia, gravity and the laws of the conservation of mass. From what Harry'd seen magic in the air didn't do anything to affect gravity or any other natural laws anywhere else. He didn't spontaneously start to walk like an astronaut, or start sliding all over the place because friction stopped existing. The same thing should apply to technology. It shouldn't just stop working.

Harry knew something must have been actively messing with the devices on Hogwarts campus and he was determined to find out what.

This looked like a job for the Internet!

Harry backtracked.

This looked like a job for the library!

* * *

Harry stood at the entrance of the Hogwarts Library and was reluctantly forced to admit that it totally left Mr. Luvre's in the dust. There were over two stories with very high ceilings and if he were forced to guess then he would place the library as nearly twice the size of the Great Hall.

Harry walked slowly down the center of the room.

_The library catalog has to be around here somewhere…_

He peeked in and out of shelves quietly and for a while his footsteps were the only sounds in the area. He eventually found the catalog and started searching the key catalog for anything to do with muggles and the twentieth century. Electrical power didn't really pick up until the 1900's after all.

Harry just pulled out a couple of cards when he heard a clacking noise against the stone floor of the room. He wasn't going to pay it any mind, but it was coming toward him. He turned his head just in time to sea Madam Pince round a bookcase and give him a sharp stare.

"And just what do you think you're doing young man?" she asked imperiously.

Harry raised a brow.

_What was her problem?_

"Looking for information on non-magical technology and Hogwarts," said Harry.

"Why?" she narrowed her eyes.

The boy's eyebrow raised even higher, "Does it matter? The point is that I need it, so can you help me?"

The witch lifted her nose in the air, "Hmph! I've got my eye on you…" and with that she stalked away leaving Harry to his own devices.

The ghost boy stood there for a minute before he felt a twitch develop in his left eye. She didn't even bother to say which section his books were in! She may have the fancier _library_ but Mr. Luvre was the better _librarian_ ten times over. No doubt about it! Well if she was going to be like that then who needed her!

Harry looked back down at the key cards in his hand that he'd pulled out of the catalog and started walking cluelessly into the forest of bookcases. He'd figure out this new library himself by dinner.

* * *

It took him half the day just to find the section he was looking for and three more days to come up with any kind of answer to the technology issue.

Harry couldn't find exactly _what_ was causing modern devices to malfunction, but he did have a pretty good idea _who _was responsible for doing it.

In 1951 several students from average families brought battery-powered radios to Hogwarts to keep up with the news at home. Some pureblooded students were intrigued, but most were afraid and didn't understand the non-magical technology.

The students from the normal world wouldn't back down though and were determined to show how wonderful their brand of technology could be. They started listing regular human exploits and inventions like the automobile and half the stuff that wizards use already in their own world, like the printing press and the English language. One of the more enterprising students actually got a television to work.

A lot of students were impressed, but there were still those who considered normal technology inferior and they continued to persecute any student that showed interest in technology. Eventually one of the harassed students lost it and started telling his bullies all about the destructive _weapons_ normal people invented in the last century including the recently dropped atom bombs in Japan.

Naturally this horrified the pureblooded population of the school, who just finished their own war with Gellert Grindelwald not to long ago. He had planned to subjugate the normal people; they weren't supposed to be able to fight back!

Wizards had the upper hand over regular people for longer than they could remember and the shift in the status quo was terrifying. Students wrote to their parents about the threat non-magical people now posed and magical Britain started to panic. The U.K. had become a powder keg and one of the sides wasn't even aware of it.

...That is, until one day that same year when all the electronics that students brought to school started to get a little fuzzy. It wasn't much at first, but after a couple of days the radios would spontaneously lose their connection and the television would die for moments at a time. Eventually all technological devices stopped working altogether.

No matter what the students tried they couldn't get their machines working again. They couldn't go to their teachers for help since none of them knew anything about modern technology and some of them even disapproved of it. In the end the Headmaster was forced to solemnly announce that electronics could not function with all of the magic in the atmosphere. Pureblooded students felt relieved that magic could short out muggle technology and immediately wrote their parents, who went on to spread the word and the looming crisis was avoided.

It was a sad story for the kids with the average families, but Harry was more interested in the acting headmaster of the time: _Albus Dumbledore_.

The ghost boy's three fun days in the library turned up some fun facts about the man who spirited Harry away from the Dursleys. Not only was the Professor a teacher and a politician, but he was also considered to be the most powerful wizard in the world. A title he earned by defeating Gellert Grindelwald in what witnesses considered to be greatest duel ever fought between wizards.

One fact that Harry didn't fail to notice was that Grindelwald's rise coincided frighteningly well with the second world war. The ghost boy wasn't sure whether the dark wizard had a hand in the war or just took advantage of the chaos during it, either was unforgivable.

Still, that meant that it was very likely that Dumbledore would have seen non-magical combat up close and personal. If he'd seen that then he would have known that non-magical people weren't to be taken lightly,_ ever_. It's possible that when non-magical technology came to Hogwarts and raised the paranoia up to eleven in the Wizarding World, Dumbledore could have predicted the likely war that would break out between the normal people and wizards.

And knowing what he did, he knew the wizarding world would lose. Badly. They were outnumbered, outdated, and the atom bomb was more effective than a thousand killing curses. (Harry wasn't sure if Dumbledore knew that the A-bomb was banned OR that it was obsolete to the H-bomb, but he didn't really want to give the man a heart attack by telling him that normal people found a way to kill more people _better.)_

So the old coot quietly took the wind out of the conflict's sails by attacking the root of the problem: the technology at Hogwarts. The pureblooded population were absolutely relieved when the other students electrical devices malfunctioned. They probably felt even safer when Professor Dumbledore told them that it was _magic _that defeated normal technology. When their parents heard how average technology couldn't work in the presence of magic they were relieved as well. And just like that, the extreme paranoia plaguing the Wizarding U.K. practically vanished overnight.

It was almost brilliant. Every witch and wizard in the British Isles goes to Hogwarts to learn magic and if they learn there that magic trumps technology and no one is around to tell them differently then no one would be the wiser. Be the time they graduated they would be so used to doing things the wizard way that they would hardly think to try using electrical technology anymore anyway and the few wizards that did learn the truth for themselves would never be believed.

Harry couldn't believe it. Dumbledore's managed to hoodwink the wizarding world for over forty years.

It was official. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was his _hero_.

* * *

Mrs. Alana Luvre was loading the dishwasher when an unfamiliar owl pecked at the window above the sink. She opened it and let the bird inside. The owl perched itself on the sink faucet and cocked its head to the side as if it was asking for something. The raven-haired woman snorted and grabbed a cracker from a box from the pantry. She offered the treat to the bird and almost lost her fingers to the greedy beast.

"And people wonder why I prefer the telephone," she muttered to herself, "OW!" the owl pecked harshly at her finger.

Alana glared at the mass of feathers in front of her, "Did you have a reason for coming here?" she glowered.

The brown owl actually huffed and turned its head to the side.

"You've got to be kidding me!" the woman almost screeched.

"Darling? Are you okay in there?" the voice of her husband carried down the hall and into the kitchen.

"I'm okay!" She called back, "It's only an owl," she sucked her slender pale finger, which was bleeding now.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned around to see her husband walk through the archway into the kitchen. He shook his head chuckling.

"You really have a way with those birds don't you?" he teased.

"Shut up Henry," she snapped, "they're evil I tell you!"

"Of course they are," said Henry.

"Fine, if you're so smart then _you_ handle the flying rat," she huffed.

Mr. Luvre's mouth twitched up a little before he cleared his throat to hide it from his clearly distressed wife. He strolled up to the owl at the sink and lightly stroked its head with one finger.

"Hey mate, got something for us?" the bird cooed in pleasure and lifted up one of its legs, revealing a letter tied to it.

Henry gently untied the letter. The owl actually nuzzled the man and was reluctant to let him go. Henry offered the owl another cookie and gently ushered the creature back to the window before watching the bird actually look back _longingly_, then reluctantly swoop out the same window it came through and fly into the night.

Mrs. Luvre crosses her arms and grumbled, "of course it would like you. Everyone likes you…"

Henry put the letter down on the kitchen table and sauntered up to his wife.

"I know _you_ do," he grinned down at her before pressing his lips against hers. Alana sighed contentedly into the kiss and reached up to wrap her arms around her partner and pull him down to her level.

Alana smacked his chest lightly when they pulled apart for air, "Smug nerd."

Henry smiled stupidly, "Yeah, but I'm _your_ nerd."

Mrs. Luvre leaned her head against her husband's solid chest and inhaled deeply, "Mmmhhmm, all mine. Promise you won't leave me for the owls will you Henry?"

"Promise," he agreed.

"Good," she said, "Now hand me that letter. Hogwarts doesn't usually send its list until August, but it wouldn't surprise me at all if Professor McGonagall got things organized early this year.

Henry sighed, it was a pain in the butt to shop for Iris' school supplies last year. Henry couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron unless he was holding his wife or daughter's hand to throw off the muggle repulsion charm. Henry actually thought Diagon Alley was a charming throwback to an era long gone and the magical breakthroughs in the absence of muggle technology was fascinating. What was much less pleasant were all the wizards seeing him as a muggle and treating him like a second class citizen at best. Even the most of the polite of wizards were condescending when they made conversation. 'I know this is probably a little overwhelming…', 'You take this all so well for a muggle!', 'I know you probably don't understand any of this, but just try to keep up…'

Mr. Luvre was not a violent man. Even when he served in the Queen's forces, he didn't _enjoy_ the supposed glory that came with fighting the 'bad guys' and he definitely didn't take any pleasure in shooting his gun. He did his duty to protect his comrades and to survive. All life was precious and a little adrenaline rush wouldn't make him forget that.

Still, it absolutely boggled the former captain that robed men and women waving around fancy sticks could tempt him to mindless violence more than any rebel ambushes he'd experienced in Oman. Alana had to actually pull him away from a particularly smug Wizard who insinuated that he was so barbaric that he couldn't even read own daughters schoolbooks. His vision actually went red for that moment and when it cleared up the snob was bent over, clutching his nose.

The sense of victory didn't last though. His violent display managed to vindicate the arrogant wizard's earlier claims that he was a savage and he spent the rest of the day as 'the brutish muggle'. Henry could have handled the scorn, but it broke his heart to see the shame and disappointment in his daughter's eyes. It killed him to know that he ruined her first official visit to the magical world.

He spent the rest of that day following Alana and Iris like a shadow, not wanting to humiliate them, by the their relation to him.

A hand waved itself in front of his face, "Henry?"

He jumped, "What?"

"You got all quiet and moody there. You okay?" Alana asked.

Henry sighed and picked the letter off the desk, "Yeah just thinking about finding a parking spot in London," he ran his hand through his non-existant-hair.

Alana winced, "Oh! Well… yeah I forgot about that. You know if you just let me hook us up to the floo network then we wouldn't have to worry about this sort of thing."

"I can't use floo powder Alana," he gave her a deadpan stare, "besides from what I've read about it – yes I picked up a book or two of my own in Diagon Alley –"

"dork"

"- they're aren't many ways to stop someone you don't want from using it to enter your house."

"We could set up a password," she suggested.

"Passwords are easy enough to guess if you know the person well enough," said Henry stubbornly.

Alana sighed loudly, "Fine! Just give me the letter!"

Henry however held on to it.

"…it's not for school supplies."

"Hmm?" that piqued the woman's interest. Mrs. Luvre didn't actually have many friends in the magical community, not even at her job as an unspeakable. She infinitely preferred the social circle she and her husband kept in the muggle world. No one looked down on her for being a muggle born and she could stay in touch with her family, unlike so many of her former classmates from Hogwarts.

It was safe to say that she didn't get mail very often.

"Is it from the Ministry?" she asked. If they needed her at work, they usually had quicker ways of alerting her.

Henry was grinning.

"So it _isn't_ the ministry…"

"It's Harry! He wrote back already!" Mr. Luvre looked close to dancing.

"I can't believe that kid from the Library actually turned out to be a wizard…" Alana shook her head. She never met Harry, but from what her husband shared with her, the stress in his life would have caused him to pour accidental magic out of his ears! Maybe Harry never showed it to them because of the healthy and stable environment Henry provided when Harry was around?

Still Alana was just glad _someone _had gone and taken the little bugger from the Dursleys home. Harry drove Henry absolutely mad with the way he protected those monstrous relatives of his. He would slip something one moment, but defend them the next. They couldn't understand why though, Harry never made it a secret that he didn't like his family, but it was like he was determined to stay under their thumb.

"I know right? I feel like such an idiot for not seeing the signs," said Henry.

"From the way you described him, Harry was pretty good at keeping a low profile. Maybe this was just another thing he learned to hide?" suggested Mrs. Luvre.

"I guess," said Henry as he started to walk out, "At least I don't have lie about you and Iris anymore." The man walked into the hall and entered the family room.

He sat down in his favorite chair and broke the envelope seal to get to the letter inside. Henry chuckled slightly at the awkward writing; Harry was obviously having trouble getting used to using quills.

_ Hey Mr. Luvre,_

_ Small world huh? I would have never guessed that you knew anything about the wizarding world (that was a compliment). So Iris I guess this means Iris is gonna go to the same school as me right? They only have one._

_ By the way, please don't call yourself a muggle. It just sounds so condescending._

_ I don't know what I'm gonna do about my average education. I mean I don't know if I want to go to college, but I'm almost positive that none of these classes would make sense on a transcript. Still I like science and I'd really rather not be forced to live in whatever bygone era the wizards insist on staying in._

_ Any Ideas?_

_ Harry_

_ P.S. Yeah I am _that_ Harry. Thanks for keeping it a secret. Please don't tell anyone.'_

Mr. Luvre scratched his chin. He'd have to think on this.

* * *

**Let's get one thing perfectly clear. I do not think wizards are stupid/inferior/weaker than normal people. It's just that when it comes down to it, there are only several million witches and wizards in the world while there are over 6 billion not wizards and witches. The non-magical army would just blow them away by sheer body count. This isn't even including all of our other little advantages.**

**Also I really would have left the technology thing alone if it actually made sense. If it just screwed with radio, satellite and phone signals then I would have been just fine with that little quirk, but it doesn't. J.K. Rowling says that everything from radios to pencil sharpeners break down because of the 'magic in the air'. I refuse to have magic so blatantly be able to break down technology like that. If that was true then a wizard could cause a gun to jam up because it was technology in the presence of magic and that's just not fair. I'm sorry if my explanation in the story doesn't make as much sense as I tried to, but I'm a writer not a scientist, so I tried my best.**

**Review Please!**


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